Tell Me About Your Pets
by Brigit O'Shaugnessy
Summary: A series of missing scenes inspired by a deleted scene from season 4 in which Sydney tells Vaughn that they should get to know one another before getting too serious. Some awkwardness, some romantic stuff, and a little humor. The characters are not mine.
1. So, I'll Call You

"So, I'll Call You"

She wanted to take it slow. She said that they needed to get to know each other again. Maybe she was right, but that didn't make it any easier to know that there was nothing to keep them apart except her hesitation. But no amount of frustration was going to keep him from trying. So here he was at 11 PM getting ready to call a girl that he was not allowed to touch. "Syd? Hey, it's Michael. Vaughn."

"Hey. I know who you are," she answered sleepily setting her book aside.

"Yeah. If this is a bad time I-" suddenly feeling nervous.

"No, it's good. I'm just lying here," she encouraged as she slithered to sit further up against the headboard.

"Yeah? What are you wearing?" He attempted to keep things light.

"Shut up," she answered smiling.

"Worth a shot."

"Shot in the dark, you mean."

"You may be a better shot, but some of us don't consider it a hobby, you know. Some of us have real hobbies." There was still a hint of laughter in his voice as he goaded her.

"I have real hobbies," she said getting defensive.

"No kidding? Name one."

"I cook."

"You cook?"

"Of course I cook. I'm damn good at it too," she answered light-heartedly.

"You are. But cooking isn't really a hobby. Just something you do to survive."

"Okay. So cooking isn't a hobby—which I disagree with. Kickboxing."

"Work-related. Not a valid entry."

"So it can't be work-related or have anything to do with survival?"

"Nope."

"I read," she offered glancing at the hardback Anna Karenina on the night stand.

"That's... Okay. You can have that one," he conceded.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I don't get it, but you can have it."

"Yeah well, at least I don't slide around on ice and wave sticks around for fun."

"It's a shame. You do it pretty well."

"I could kick your ass if I tried," she baited.

"Not a chance."

"You don't think so?"

"No way. You don't have the commitment for it."

"You'd be begging me to quit, if I set my mind to it."

"I doubt it. Are we still talking about hockey?"

"Ass."

"Yeah, but you like me that way," he hoped aloud.

"Yeah, I do." For a moment neither of them knew where to direct the conversation. "Hey, we should play sometime. I miss that," she continued.

"Really?" Their nervous, uneasy banter gave way to a more relaxed tone of friendship. A tone that, for a moment, made them forget why the embarrassment had been present to begin with.

"It was fun. I don't know, like being away from everything in the world except what you take with you. I don't really have a place to hide. Of course, that's assuming you still play."

"Yeah, I do. Not as much since... since before." He failed to entirely mask his thinking and their brief moment of peace was broken.

"This is awkward," she stated in a drawn out melody calling attention to what they were both thinking.

"Yeah."

"I know it's been a long time, but it's like some things are still _exactly_ the same. Yet some things are so different, ya know?"

"I know exactly what you mean."

"You know what my favorite thing used to be? I mean, what I really miss?"

"What?"

"I used to love going to the grocery store with you."

"God, you're a dork, Syd," he laughed.

"I know. I can't help it. It was so normal—so average." He could almost hear her smile, and found himself unable to restrain his own.

"Well, I still go to the grocery store. You should come with me sometime."

"What? Like a date?" Her face was swallowed up by her dimpled grin.

"I'm glad you're not writing my personal ad. 'Sparks will fly in produce. Just wait till we meet up in frozen foods.'" She was actually laughing. That, he decided, was what he missed the most.

"You know what else I loved?"

"What?"

"I loved buying your birthday present."

"You never bought me a birthday present."

"Yes I did."

"Well, I never got it."

"That's because I didn't give it to you."

"Why not?"

"Because it was just a few months ago, and I didn't think it would be appropriate." They were beginning to acquire the knack for disarming awkward silences filled with painful thoughts.

"Well, I can't see any harm in it now. And I like presents. So, what did you get me?"

"I can't tell you."

"Okay. When do I get it?"

"On your birthday."

"But, my birthday's over."

"You'll have another one."

"And if I don't?" His jest did not have the intended effect.

"Don't say that," she replied quietly.

"Syd, I was joking."

"I know. And if you were still just a French teacher, it would have been a funny joke. As it is, I'd rather not dwell on it."

"Sorry."

"Do you ever wonder why we do this? I mean, I know why we do it, but why did it ever seem like a good idea to begin with?"

"Why do you do it?"

"Because I want to do something that matters. I'd like to make sure that no kid ever has to grow up as messed up as I am. I mean, I certainly wouldn't want my own children to have the kind of life I've had."

"But you do want kids?" he asked trying to steer the conversation to positive place.

"Maybe. If the timing is right. Someday. Not that I have to have kids, but it might be nice. I could take them to the grocery store with me," she finished with enthusiasm.

"Oh, well, that settles it then."

"What about you?"

"I haven't really thought about it."

"Liar."

"I haven't. Seems a little premature at the moment since I don't even have a girlfriend."

"You don't?"

"Do I?"

"Do you want one?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So do I? Have a girlfriend?"

"I think so. I hope so. Yes?" It was a question she wanted him to answer. She needed to be sure.

"Yes."

"Good. 'cause I don't think that grocery store ad was going to get many responses."

"I think it was intentionally sabotaged."

"Maybe. You're a good secret to keep. Then again, maybe it's just occupationally induced paranoia on your part," she offered while smiling like a fool.

"You know, not everything we did was average," he offered suggestively. "One thing in particular was always amazing."

"Vaughn," despite being alone, she blushed.

"Yes?"

"Nothing."

"I'm just saying, you're amazing." She smiled a little. She had missed his direct, sweet compliments. Sometimes cheesy, but always sincere.

"So are you." She smiled in the silence that had lost it's awkwardness. "So that's all you miss?"

"No. But it's definitely in the top ten."

"What else?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not? I told you," she argued.

"You only told me one thing, and you're going to think it's creepy."

"I told you three, and maybe I won't think it's creepy."

"You will, Syd."

"Please, Vaughn?"

"Okay. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready."

"What I miss is," he hesitated briefly, "anything that involves you in water."

"What? That's so weird."

"I know. It's just... It's my thing, I guess."

"Water?"

"Mm-hmm. The time we decided to be late to the debrief and went swimming in the middle of some lake in the middle of nowhere. Amazing."

"Really..."

"Yes. And your ridiculous two hour baths."

"It's not ridiculous, it's relaxing."

"You had to refill the tub twice. And all those times we were late to work and had to shower together."

"Ok, those were fun. And _you_ refilled the tub for me."

"Yeah, they were, and yes, I did. You know what else?"

"What?"

"I miss spending the night with you."

"You already said that."

"No, I mean, I miss spending the evenings with you. Before the night part. You're so easy to be with." She was at a loss. Maybe it was too soon for this conversation. "Syd, you were my best friend. It's cliché, I know, but it's true. People have always had some expectations of me. What I should do, what I should or shouldn't say, what I should believe. I never got that from you. I was just me. I never felt like I needed to hide who I was from you. I miss that." Silence ensued from both of them. There was no denying from either of them that he was the "strong, silent type." That had always been one of the things that drew her to him. She didn't like sissies. Vaughn talking about his feelings was almost a foreign experience.

"Vaughn, I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to. I just wanted you to know."

"You know I was never completely honest with anyone until you. Do you know what it's like to live your whole life hiding things from everyone, and then finally someone comes along who knows everything even if you do try to hide it?" Her voice was starting to waver. "And then to lose that person... It's awful. I'd rather never have known what it was like. I mean all that junk about 'better to have loved and lost...' It's crap, that's all it is. It's not better! It sucks! It just sucks!" She was almost yelling by the end of her remark, until with conscious effort she subdued her tone. "I'm Sorry. I just... I miss you."

"I know. I miss you too. But we'll be okay. It's just time, that's all."

"I wish you were here now."

"Syd, I-"

"I know." There was no point in apologizing again. It wouldn't change anything. "Will you... Will you come over for breakfast tomorrow? I'll make those banana things you like."

"The pancakes? I'm totally there."

"Good. I think I'm gonna go take a bath though, so I should probably hang up."

"Bath? No way, take me with you." She smiled sincerely.

"You're right, it is a _little_ creepy."

"Told you."

"But you can still come to breakfast. I'll even let you do the dishes with me."

"Wow. That's hot. You have no idea."

"You're sick. And you're lucky I'm _not_ writing your personal ad. The water thing would definitely go in there somewhere."

"It's not water in general. Only you. Just you and water."

"Oh, so you're specifically creepy. I guess that's something anyway."

"Okay well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then. What time?"

"Seven?"

"Perfect. I'll see you then."

"Yeah, I'll see you."

"Night."

"Night."


	2. The Banana Things

"The Banana Things"

It was almost 6:45 AM, and she knew he would be early. He was always early. It was really annoying. Especially since she was only just finished with her hair and still needed to do some face work. Battling the clock she put on a quick layer of make-up and wondered why she had told him 7. It seemed like a good idea last night. They would have an hour and a half till they needed to leave for the office giving them plenty of time to talk, or yell, or whatever they would end up doing. She had just finished her eyes and it was 6:55. She was amazed to find he still wasn't here. Shutting off the bathroom light and walking toward the kitchen she gave a long glance to the front door.

Reaching to a top cupboard she pulled down her cookbook and opened to the page that was still marked with his favorite. It had been an experiment a long time ago. She had wanted to make something different, and he was her guinea pig. They had come home exhausted only to find that there was no food in the house except some speckled bananas, a few nuts, and the basics for baking. She had fought it saying they could not have pancakes for dinner, but he insisted. It was nice. There was nothing spectacular about that night except him discovering his favorite pancakes. But it was easy. It was exactly what he had said last night. It was comfortable to be with him. She missed that. She missed the way that being with him could turn ordinary pancakes into something memorable. The doorbell rang, startling her from her reverie. 7:04 AM. He was late.

She opened the door to a Vaughn she had not seen in a while. He looked happy. It was a pleasant sight, but at the same time disconcerting to realize she had not seen his smile in so long.

"Come in," she offered. He did, shedding his now standard leather jacket, just one of the visible things that had changed about him. She wondered if he even noticed. She did. She noticed all of the physical things that had changed—his clothes, his hair, his face. He looked older. It was not surprising, but it was evident. His now smiling eyes looked at her and he was struck with the awkwardness of the situation again. Should he hug her? Kiss her? How do you say hello to someone you were in love with, but did not know? She felt it too and stepped away, taking his jacket with her and giving it a toss toward the back of the couch. "You're late."

"Yeah it's, it's a bad habit."

"Really?" Interesting. "Well, I was running behind anyway, so would you slice the bananas for me?" He did not answer; he just moved to the counter next to her where she had the cutting board and bananas poised for their demise. He tested the sharpness of the knife with his thumb, and set it down to choose another one from the knife block, and repeating the process twice more. She giggled at this, causing confusion in him.

"What?" he asked.

"Vaughn, seriously? They're bananas. You could cut them with a butter knife."

"Right. Occupational hazard." He smiled picking up the original knife again.

"Just make sure they're all the same size or they'll cook differently."

"For which I will need a sharper knife."

"Just do it, Vaughn." She was already laughing. She could barely remember the last time she had laughed this early in the morning. As of late, mornings had been the worst part of her days. This was not going to be one of those days.

"Oui, Mademoiselle." he smiled and impulsively and innocently kissed her lips. He stopped short of vertical and a guilty mask came down over his face. "Sorry, I didn't... Sorry."

"It's okay." she answered. He looked down to the bananas and began his task, refusing to meet her eyes. "Vaughn?" she said quietly. "Michael, look at me." He did so, but with difficulty. He reminded her of a child about to be grounded, and she smiled softly.

"I didn't mean to, I'm sorry," he repeated again.

"I know, and I mean it Vaughn, it's really okay."

"It's so hard, Syd. To be with you, here, in your kitchen for God's sakes, and not be the way we used to be."

"I know. That's why I'm telling you, it's okay." His guilty face was replaced with one of confusion as he tried to understand what she was saying.

"Are you saying that—" he was interrupted by her soft smile colliding with his words as she kissed him sweetly but briefly. "So you're saying, you liked it?"

"Always did. Some things don't change." She went back to her flour and sugar and he turned down to his bananas. They worked in silence for a few minutes as each of them processed what had just happened. They had already shared their first mission at APO and the night that had followed. It was inevitable she reasoned, but it was not the same. She had needed to be with him, but it was not like being with him. He was a stranger in so many ways now. Physically, everything was the same, but then lying there with him afterwards, she had felt uncomfortable. He asked her a personal but simple question. It was a question she never would have hesitated to answer before her disappearance, and was saddened to notice that she did not feel safe telling him the answer. He had felt it too, she knew. He did not stay. She came back to him dressing and they had parted awkwardly with "I'll see you in the morning." Since then there had been an unspoken moratorium on physical contact. There was a lot to work on, and she had told him so. He had agreed telling her that he would call her. This morning's breakfast was the result. But now there were some questions as to what was happening.

"So, I think I need some help here," he requested. She viewed his progress with the bananas and was surprised to find him finished.

"I think you got it. We shouldn't use more than three." He turned to address her again.

"No. Not the banana thing. This thing with us. Could you translate everything that just happened into male?"

"What?"

"I don't speak girl languages."

"You speak French."

"Very funny. I'm serious, Sydney. I don't want to screw this up, and it's bound to happen unless you tell me what's going on. Can you tell me what is, and what isn't allowed?"

"You mean the kiss thing?"

"What else?" becoming exasperated. She put down her spoon and turned to face him slowly.

"I don't really have a list. It just... it felt right, ya know?"

"I know. But does that mean that it is an acceptable gesture of affection from now on, or is this just an isolated occurrence?" he asked. "Because God knows I want to, but I don't want to make anything worse than it already is."

"Obviously we're in a delicate situation right now. I think we both know that." She placed a hand over his on the counter. His face was strained, trying to anticipate her words. "And I think we both know that we need to have some limits, at least for now." His eyes fell. "But I don't think it's very realistic for us to expect to spend time together and not bump into each other now and then. Sometimes intentionally." He looked up again, a smile beginning at the corners of his mouth. "I mean, I am your girlfriend, right? So, it'd be weird if we never touched at all. Or was that conversation a dream?"

"No, it wasn't."

"It wasn't, therefore, I am inclined to believe that kissing would be an 'acceptable gesture of affection' from now on," she finished mocking his formal verbiage earlier.

"Shut up."

"Make me," she replied, and was silenced by his lips on hers. No longer hurried, but warming, taking her back years to their ritual kisses after they got home from the office. They had been very careful about public affection given the problems their feelings had caused both of them early on. It was something that had been ingrained in their minds that you just do not do at the office. They were professional. And it did not escape her notice that he had no problems with kissing Lauren at the office, but she pushed this thought from her mind. This ritual kiss was not sexual, though depending on both of their moods, it could easily become so, and often had. More than anything, it was reassuring. A reminder that no matter how long it had been since the last kiss, that both of them had been thinking about it during the enforced separation. And she had been. Her arms had instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, and his were planted habitually on her hips. It felt good to slip into an old habit with him. All too soon, they separated and smilingly turned back to their breakfast tasks.

"Are there any other acceptable gestures I should know about?" he asked. She laughed out loud, and only continued to smile when she saw him looking happy again.

"Why don't we just treat this like we just started dating?"

"Do you remember when we just started dating?" She blushed, remembering just how quickly things had moved then.

"Yes, but we were... we had feelings a long time before then. At least I did. It was more a formality than an actual beginning."

"So when was the real beginning?"

"I don't know. When was the beginning for you?"

"Probably Taipai."

"Taipai?"

"At least that's the point in time that I knew it would be wrong for me to be with anyone else."

"But you were with Alice."

"Yeah, and I knew it was wrong. I've never been good at breaking up with women. They cry too much."

"Have you considered men?"

"No. But I have considered finding a woman I'll never break up with." He looked pointedly at her, and her gaze was forced down again.

"So Taipai? Let's see, we went on one date, which by the way, did not end with a goodnight kiss. So where does that leave us?"

"You're the one making the rules. You tell me?"

"Why don't we make the rules?"

"I don't think you want me to do that."

"I do. I trust you. You know what's at stake, and I believe that you will do what's necessary to protect us."

"You know I will."

"Okay, so one thing I just have to say. The next time we're 'together,' we should both be involved in the decision. Neither of us should be naked, or escaping from a near death experience."

"Syd, that's like never, in our lives."

"You know what I mean. No adrenaline decisions."

"So you think it was a mistake?" he asked quietly.

"What is a mistake, really? I think it was inevitable. I think it was a result of a really scary operation. I think it may have been premature. And I think it was incredible." She smiled in spite of herself. And glanced over to see him smiling as well.

"So not a mistake. Just a mixture of positive and negative feelings."

"I'd say probably positive and confused feelings."

"Okay, so no sex without rationally clothed decisions. What else?"

"I think probably, nothing that will make us want to break that rule."

"But otherwise unrestricted?"

"I'd say so. Just don't do anything that's going to make your life too difficult." she smiled. "So, you're kind of leaning on my stove, and if you want breakfast, you'll have to move." He moved away and watched from the kitchen island as she intently poured batter into the giant skillet and carefully placed the banana slices into each one.

"So, you really enjoy this? Cooking, I mean?"

"Yeah." she smiled. "It's like going to the grocery store. It's normal. It makes me feel normal. Like being with you."

"Syd, you are a lot of things, but you are not, nor will you ever be normal."

"You had better be nice to me, or I'm going to eat all of these things right here in front of you. And let me tell you mister," She stared him down with a spatula pointed at his head, "I will _not_ share."

"I'll be nice later."

"Promise?"

"Mm-hmm. So when do I get to do the dishes?"

"We don't have dishes yet. We just started."

"What a drag."

"I know, but anticipation can be exciting."

"No kidding?"

"I'm serious. Like right now, on the outside, I'm making pancakes, but on the inside, I'm thinking about bringing you back here after work."

"Really? Were you going to invite me at any point, or are you just assuming I'm at your beck and call? 'cause I might have plans."

"Do you?"

"No. But I might have. Or might have made them before you asked."

"Well, the plan was to ask you right now, so I really doubt it. Weiss doesn't get up this early. So, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

"I would like that. Then what?"

"I don't know. Acceptable gestures of affection?" she was laughing again, and he was mildly annoyed.

"That's it. I'm outta here," he headed toward the door smiling and she followed him out, laughing.

"Don't go. I'm sorry. Please stay. I hate these pancakes." He turned around, surprised by her last statement.

"Then why are you making them?"

"You like them."

"You hate them? Like, you really hate them? Syd, we used to eat these once a week."

"I know."

"And you never told me you didn't like them."

"But you did, and I wanted you to be happy."

"Syd, I don't know how to tell you this. They're terrible."

"What?"

"Can't stand 'em. They're awful. But you were having such a bad day, and I didn't want to make it worse." She looked up at him, stunned, and slowly they both began laughing. She stepped into him with a hug, and he reciprocated.

"You know something? You're really great," she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

"So, what about breakfast?"

"I think we should eat them anyway."

"Even though we both hate them?"

"Yep. It's our penance for not being honest."

"Masochist." She blushed a little at that.

"It's irrelevant. We're eating the damn pancakes."

"Okay. Let's make it quick." They were finally sitting down to eat the aforementioned pancakes of doom.

"So, why were you late?" she asked.

"It's—no reason."

"You do realize that we're eating these godawful pancakes because we both lied to each other? So tell me why you were late." He smiled, then his face fell. She was instantly sorry, but was unsure why.

"It was Lauren."

"What? Lauren?"

"She was ridiculous about punctuality. It pissed her off when people were late so I sort of, after you came back, I started being late all the time. It's juvenile, I know, but it stuck with me." She looked at him and smiled sadly.

"Well, sucks for her, but from my perspective, it's kinda sweet."

"Come on, you know it's stupid and childish."

"Well, it's over now. So if you want to be on time, it's okay. You don't have to; just in case you wanted to."

"Wow."

"What?"

"There are just no words for how terrible these are."

"I know, right? I could never understand why you liked them so much."

"Can we have chocolate chips next time?"

"God yes! I thought you'd never ask."

"So, when's next time?"

"Well, next time is tonight, but next breakfast, I don't know."

"So we can have them tonight."

"What? I'm not eating pancakes for dinner."

"Why not?"

"Because it is a breakfast food. And with chocolate chips, it's a dessert food. Neither one of those is the same as a dinner food."

"It's just food. Flexibility is your life. Try it."

"It's not just food. Every meal is an opportunity for a culinary experience."

"Or survival."

"I love how you're such a man sometimes."

"Sometimes? Should I be offended?"

"What do you think?"

"I think I cannot eat another bite. I can't believe you ate these every week just for me."

"So did you."

"Yeah, but _you_ are really cute."

"So are you."

"So since I'm 'really cute', if I asked a favor of you, do you think it would do any good?" He took on a serious tone.

"Maybe. What is it?" She mirrored his concern.

"I know this is asking a lot. Especially considering how things are right now." He reached over and took her hand in his. He attentively stroked the length of each of her fingers before looking up to continue. "Syd, you don't have to say yes, but..." he stroked her left ring finger again, and she could feel his hand shaking. She took note of the specific finger he was attending to, and sheer internal panic overtook her. She was not ready for what he was about to say; surely he knew that. "Syd, do you have any cereal?" She pulled her hand out of his and attempted to restrain her blush. She looked at him to see the ridiculous grin on his face. He had her, and he knew it.

"God, you're an ass."

"I am not, you're just gullible. I can't believe you bought that. It was like a scene straight out of one of those sappy movies you used to make me watch. In fact I think it was one of those scenes. Was it Robert Redford? I can't remember."

"Toasty Oats or kid cereal?"

"Please? You know this one."

"The more marshmallows the better."

"Thanks." She set the box and bowl down in front of him hard and grabbed both of their plates. She turned her back and began quickly cleaning up breakfast. He poured his cereal and looked up to notice she was filling the sink with water.

"Syd?" She ignored him. "Sydney?" Clearly, she was not amused. He got up and moved to stand next to her at the sink. "Can I help?"

"No," she answered brusquely.

"I'm sorry. I guess I am an ass."

"Damn straight." The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her again. But he had. He leaned against the counter to watch her furiously washing dishes.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked quietly.

"I don't want you to go," she said turning to face him as she started to cry, "I just want it to be exactly like it was before when we were together, and it's not. It's just not, and I don't think it ever will be. Will it? I mean, it only makes sense that if you're a different person and I'm a different person, that we will be different people together, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." They were both silent as her words rang over and over again.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go? Because from what you just said, it sounds like you're not too happy when I'm around."

"Don't go," she answered definitively as she wiped away a few tears, and pulled herself from her uncontrolled state. "Please, don't go."

"But Sydney," he swallowed hard, nearly unable to finish, "If us being together and spending time together is making you unhappy, then I don't want it. I've seen you unhappy long enough. I won't be the cause of that anymore."

"You're not. God, you're not, Vaughn. Could you," she started crying again. Reaching out her hand, he took his cue and pulled her close. There they stood for a long time, holding one another. He wallowed in the irony of the fact that he was comforting her when he was the one that had hurt her. It was bad enough when Lauren had been alive and was causing a rift between them. But now Lauren was gone, and he was the one making Sydney's life hell. Her head came up and she slipped out of his arms.

"It's not that I don't like you now, Vaughn, you have to believe that. I do. You're just different. And every time you do or say something that you wouldn't have done before, it reminds me of... of how much I've missed. How much I've missed that I can never get back. And then I think about those two years that I'll probably never even remember... It's just a lot sometimes."

"Sydney..."

"Please, don't give up on us."

"You know I won't." He drew her close again. He tried to understand her pain, but the only comparison he had was knowing that those three years without her were three years he could never get back either. Three years wasted.

"Promise me. Even if I tell you to go. Promise me." She wished fervently that a promise would make her believe it, but she knew it was a vain hope.

"I promise. Don't worry. I promise."

She lifted her head to kiss him, and was happy to find that it felt natural, not awkward. She kissed him again, and planted her hands on his chest, and noticed the wreck that her makeup and tears had made of his shirt. "Damn. You're a mess."

"You're not so perfect yourself," he responded wiping off her face.

"Yeah, but I live here. You'd better finish your cereal if you need to go back home and change."

"Thank you, no. I'm a little angry at the cereal right now."

"Now that's childish. I could make more pancakes."

"Cereal it is."


	3. Do You Know Any Jokes?

"Do You Know Any Jokes?"

The aisles were crowded and chaotic. Vaughn rolled his eyes in aggravation at the toddling boy behind him who was screaming something about "stinky winky" and "po." Vaguely he wondered why the child's mother was not more embarrassed. He also wondered why parents taught their children pet names for genitalia like "winky," and what the hell was a po? He tried to remember why he had agreed to stop by the store alone after work instead of making Sydney come with him. For someone who seemed to enjoy the mundane, she had not seemed eager to buy bread and milk. Nevertheless, he was eager to spend the evening with her, so if standing in this line would get him closer to that, it was worth it. The cashier clearly loved her job, hardly bothering to make eye contact with anyone. At least he was not the only one who considered a career change now and then. He wondered if she would trade him. He snickered to himself at the thought, but was sobered by the fact that the past year had made the apathetic girl's life seem almost appealing—almost. Then again, it was not only the job that had made the past year difficult. He spotted a young carefree couple exiting the store in front of him, and found himself pitying their happiness. They would find out soon enough what life was really like.

He arrived at Sydney's and decided that confidence was the best course of action against his bad mood as he walked in unannounced. Unfortunately, he quickly got the feeling he was unwanted. Jack and Sydney stood in the kitchen staring icily at one another. Sydney retreated to the bedroom, and he hesitated to follow her. He remembered clearly asking her about her father just a few days earlier, and it had not ended well. He stood at the counter for a few minutes contemplating his options with furrowed brow. He could not leave. He could not stand here like an idiot waiting for her to come out. He really only had one option, and so he went in. But the revelations were painful. He now had something other than affection for Sydney in common with Jack Bristow, and he was unsure if that should make him proud or unnerved. Not that he himself was pained by the death of Irina Derevko, but Sydney clearly was and that was just as bad. She lay in his lap, clinging desperately to his arms wrapped around her. He felt helpless. He was, by nature, a problem solver. But there was no solution this time. There was barely even any comfort. After a lengthy silence from both of them, her body grew relaxed again, and a weary sigh escaped her.

"Have you learned any new jokes?" she asked after a time. He gave a shallow smile and stroked her hair away from her face.

"Mm-hmm. Only bad ones."

"My favorite kind." He kissed her temple gently and wrapped his arms more securely around her, pulling her closer to vertical in the process.

"Okay, so here's one. It's an ethnic joke, so don't get offended. I personally have nothing against the Irish. In fact, I love Guinness. And even though what I just said appears to be a stereotype, I just don't want you to think that I know this joke because I have a problem with any particular—"

"Seriously. The joke, please?"

"Okay, so an Irishman walks out of a bar." She is silent, still waiting for the rest of the joke.

"I don't get it."

"Because the Irish drink a lot. He walked _out _of the bar. Or he _walked _out of the bar. Whichever word you focus on, it's still funny."

"Well, you're right. It certainly is a bad joke."

"I didn't deny it."

"My first clue should have been the disclaimer. I read this book once for school—the introduction was longer than the first two chapters combined. I made a rule about that when I finished the book. If you spend more than ten words apologizing for what you're about to say, it's not going to be pretty."

"I have to confess something." She looked up inquisitively. "That's the best joke I've learned in three years." She smiled, and turned in his arms to face him.

"Now, that's funny."

"Okay, there was this one Marshall told me. It's pretty bad, but I think I did smile. Ready?" She smiles. "Okay, a neutron walks into a bar and orders a beer. The bartender sets the beer down in front of him and says, 'for you, no charge!'" She groaned and lightly smacked her forehead.

"Marshall! That's an amazing joke."

"Are you kidding?" he asked getting defensive.

"I mean amazing in a horrible sort of way."

"It's certainly not better than my Irishman."

"No, you're absolutely right. I'm sorry."

"I can't believe you chose his joke over mine. Where's the loyalty? Get off of me, woman," he smiled.

"No, I don't want to."

"Too bad," he insisted standing up and tossing her to the bed face down. A well placed foot behind his knee knocked him down perpendicular to her legs on top of the bed. She laughed out loud for the first time that night, and he crawled up the bed to face her.

"Sorry. Not funny," she said reaching out to casually trail her fingers across his face.

"No, it was pretty funny."

"I should go finish dinner."

"No, you shouldn't. You should stay here in bed with me."

"Vaughn, I don't think tonight is really the appropriate time t—"

"No, I know. But I like looking at you."

"I don't know how you can do it, my eyes are crossing trying to see straight, you're so close."

"I have a stronger inducement to focus."

"You know, I think the part that bothers me the most about this whole thing—what really hurts me—is not that fact that she's dead. I mean, given the right circumstances, I would have killed her myself." She stopped, frowning at the truth of what she had just confessed. "What really bothers me is the fact that he was able to do it. That my parents cared so little for one another, ya know?" He wondered if she knew how much this was hurting him. If, God forbid, he and Lauren had a child, he still would not have hesitated to do exactly as Jack had done. If anything, he would have considered it to be a gift to his son or daughter. "I mean, I know the whole bit about children not being responsible for the choices of their parents, but I kind of feel like... it's stupid because, I'm an adult, I'm supposed to be able to rationalize these things and not be emotional about it. But I have to wonder what is even the point of my life? They didn't want me. At least, she certainly didn't," she blinked back two persistent tears. "I might as well be a product of rape." His hand settled onto her shoulder, squeezing gently. She breathed in an unsteady breath and buried half of her face in the pillow. The stillness of her home served to isolate her from the chaos of her work, and left her alone with her thoughts. She had spent a lot of time alone with her thoughts in the past year. They had become good friends and even better enemies. They never deserted her, but they also never gave her peace. She snuffled softly, and found herself being pulled toward him. She ended with her head resting comfortably on his shoulder and an arm around his waist. She knew there was nothing he could say to overrule what she was feeling, and he knew she did not expect him to. There was no pretense of comfort to be made.

* * *

Sydney awoke with imprints of his shirt on her face and his fingers toying with her hair.

"How long was I out?" she queried drowsily.

"About an hour I think."

"Did I say anything interesting?"

"No, you were quiet this time. I've missed our middle of the night conversations though," he answered.

"God, you must be starving. I'm such a terrible hostess."

"This is way better than food."

"Don't lie to me. I know how you feel about food. You're the only guy I've ever been with that chose food over being in bed with me."

"I don't see the problem. Keeping up with you takes a lot of energy."

"Well, the point is, you're hungry now. Let's go," she stated sitting up and crawling over him off of the bed. He lay there for a few minutes after she left, and surveyed the room. She always acted so tough at work and she was. But she was also soft, sweet, and compassionate. It showed in the softness of the décor and muted colors. It felt so relaxed and calm. Everything about her home spoke of it's owner, but it did not speak of everything about her. He knew another side of her.

"Vaughn!" Clearly, she was not pleased.

"Yeah, baby," he replied placatingly.

"Get in here! And don't 'baby' me!" He walked into the kitchen with trepidation as his only ally. She was leaning against the kitchen island with one angry hand clutching her hip and another pressed palm down harshly against the counter top.

"Yes, baby?" he smiled nervously.

"Baby?" She gestured to the bag of groceries on the counter sarcastically. "You left the groceries out."

"Is that it?" he sniggered.

"What do you mean, 'is that it?' This bag contains three ingredients for our dinner tonight. Three perishable ingredients that have now been sitting on the counter for at least two hours."

"So?"

"So, what are we going to do now?"

"Speaking as someone trained in running multiple scenarios, I find that in situations like these, the best tactical option is pizza," he smiled. She fumed a moment longer, but soon resigned herself to his smile and his logic. There was clearly no point in arguing about something that was in the past. Was there?

The pizza was ordered, they settled into the couch, and she introduced him to Alfred Hitchcock by way of _Marnie—_the story of a psychotic kleptomaniac. Will had always been her classic movie buddy. It had been their thing, and to be honest, she had not wanted to share it with anyone else. But he was gone now, and she could not watch them by herself always.

"Wow. And you thought your life was messed up." No one could say "wow" with less enthusiasm than he had.

"I know, right?" she replied smiling. "It's a little comforting."

"Do you have any impulsive habits as a result of your unusual childhood?"

"Everything I've ever stolen has been for the government. Or at least I thought so. Does that count?"

"Nah. You were just smarter than her. You found a way to make your need for thrills acceptable."

"Ha! My 'need'?"

"You like it."

"Yeah, a little bit."

"Do you still want to quit?" he questioned seriously.

"Someday. After Sloane. It's not really about revenge anymore, but I can't believe that he's really reformed. I can't believe he would hesitate for a moment to ruin someone else's life the same way he did mine if it benefited him. I know that there will always be evil in the world, but I can't just disappear and pretend everything's fine while he's still out there."

"What would you do?" he asked. "If you quit, I mean. You're not exactly the kind of person who can do nothing."

"I don't know. I could teach. I'd have to do some refresher courses, but it might be fulfilling. Or maybe I'd just retire on my government pension to my own island somewhere."

"Your own? Complete solitude?"

"Maybe I'd share with a few people," she answered smiling.

"Yeah? Who?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." She slid her arm through his and took his fingers between her own, leaning into his shoulder and nuzzling like an attention starved kitten. "What do you think it would cost to buy my own island?"

"Don't know, but I'm sure your dad could help you out." Here was an example of something that should not have been said, he reminded himself.

"I don't want his help," she stiffened her posture, and tightened her grip on his hand. "It's not like he's rich anyway." She mentally changed the subject and relaxed slightly.

"I wouldn't say that," he said not picking up on the shift in her direction.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Your dad has plenty of money."

"How do you know?"

"I've seen it."

"Oh, he showed you his stash?" she asked in jest.

"More or less. One of them, anyway."

"Why would my dad show you anything? I mean, he doesn't have a lot of friends. I didn't think you were an exception."

"Let's just say, we have some things in common." She silently contemplated what the hell he was talking about. The most obvious possibility was Irina and Lauren. But what did that have to do with her father's secret stockpile of cash or gold or whatever it was?

"Did he help you, Vaughn?" she asked looking straight at him. "I mean, I know he wasn't crazy about Lauren, but did he _help _you?"

"When Lindsey had you. We went to pick up supplies to get you out," he answered, deciding that it would do her no good to know the whole story.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," she concluded, now regretting her reference to Lauren. His thumb gave her hand a reassuring stroke, and he looked at her with a sad smile. "Maybe you're right," she settled back against his shoulder. "He should buy me an island."

"Well, he wouldn't have to know about it. I do know where the stash is."

"Wouldn't he be mad," she mused. "Sounds fun."

"It'd be like a 'Secret Santa' thing, only Santa wouldn't know."

"But Christmas is like eleven months from now."

"Are you retiring before then?"

"It could happen. You know how fast things imploded with the Alliance. It could be over tomorrow."

"Yeah. What if it were? What would you do?"

"_Au Revoir_, _Auf Wiedersehen_, and so long sucker. What about you?"

"I don't know. The idea of normalcy is tempting. But honestly, I really like my job."

"You'd stay?"

"You're forgetting that I didn't join the CIA because of Sloane. He's not my only objective."

"So, you're telling me that you would _not_ R.S.V.P. to my island party?"

"I didn't say that. But it's a theoretical at this point. I'll make the decision when I get the invitation."

"What if I give it to you right now?"

"Syd," he pressed her fingers to his lips. "Let's not push it just yet."

"Yeah. You're right," she admitted. "Sorry you didn't get your pancakes."

"Next time."

"Which is when?"

"I'm not sure planning is going to do us much good. You know how work is."

"Well, then, the next time we're both in the same country with access to a kitchen and milk that hasn't soured, we'll have pancakes."

"Deal. I can't wait."

They still had a lot to learn, and a lot to talk about. Mostly they had to learn how to talk to each other without slicing open old wounds. But they also had to learn how to talk about the old wounds. It had been months, but they had yet to talk about Lauren except in the abstract. It still took everything they had to remember the happiness of their former relationship, let alone the pain of the interim. The deeper issues were still a little further down the agenda for both of them. It was indisputable that they would work their way down that list. But for now, there were evenings full of movies and meals and 'what ifs'.


	4. Sweeties

"Sweeties"

Another work day was almost over, and a smiling Sydney sat at her desk typing sporadically. She missed the days when she gave verbal reports that had to be typed and transmitted through Vaughn. This secretary stuff was definitely getting old. Which was probably the reason she quickly closed her screen and spun her chair around when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Vaughn! Thank God, I thought you were Sloane," she exclaimed.

"Working on your report?" he asked casually.

"IMing Marshall," she replied in a hushed guilty tone.

"Slacker."

"I'll leave the diligence to you. You and your protestant work-ethic."

"Thanks," he answered sarcastically. "Listen, I was wondering—if you don't have any plans—if maybe you'd want to go for a drink later. Or coffee. Or any socially sanctioned excuse for sitting and talking to someone." As he finished the statement, he worried that it sounded like something Jack might say, but Sydney just smiled a little.

"I'd like that. Let's see how the remainder of the day goes, and then I'll choose between alcoholic and non-alcoholic conversation catalysts."

"I can live with that. So what are you guys talking about?" his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Classified."

"I'm sure," he replied doubtfully. "Well, my report is finished, so come find me in the gym when you're finished up here."

"Of course your report is finished. Brown-noser," she accused.

"Nope. You just gave me lots of practice. Do you have any idea how much you talked in our meetings in the beginning?"

"And you put everything in the report?" she asked suddenly seeming embarrassed. He smiled affectionately.

"Well, maybe not _everything_," he confessed.

"Which is why you still have a job."

"Come find me later," he instructed as he spun her chair back around and casually squeezed her shoulder.

"I will," she replied smiling.

* * *

Vaughn landed a solid blow followed by a series of quick jabs and a low elbow to the undeserving bag. It had done nothing to offend him, yet he pummeled it as if it were guilty of some unforgivable crime. The bag swayed minimally, standing up to every punch, and seemingly begging for more. He complied starting in on it again when Sydney walked through the door. He finished up a few more hits before joining her by the glass wall, slightly out of breath.

"Hey, having fun?" she asked.

"I guess. How's your report coming?"

"Finished. Just needed some incentive."

"Good. Are you ready then?" he asked, making sure that nothing had come up to preclude their evening's plans.

"Yep. But I'm not going anywhere with you like that," she stated with a gesture to his entire person.

"I thought I'd go casual tonight," he teased. "Where are we going?"

"I think coffee is good tonight. That place down the block we used to go to? Casual is fine. Sweaty—not so much."

"You don't like it? It's the scent of a man, baby."

"How long will you be?"

"Twenty minutes, tops."

"Okay. I'm going to go run a quick errand and I'll meet you there." He gave her a perfunctory kiss and was met with a hand on his chest to prohibit any further contact. "Wow! You should really go get that shower now."

* * *

Sydney walked into the cozy, local coffee shop fretting over the painfully stark office attire she was still wearing. She had discontinued the blazer, but the professional top and black pants screamed, "I just left the office!" Not exactly the image she wanted to project on this semi-date. She found Vaughn at the corner table with his back to the wall with a clear view of everyone and everything in the room. There were some things that were impossible to leave at the office. She smiled and walked toward him, noticing that there were already two cups sitting on the table. She seated herself across from him and angled the chair to take in as much of the room as possible.

"I, uh, I took a chance that you still drink the same thing," he began a little uncomfortably.

"Good instinct," she said taking a sip of her drink much to his relief.

"You look pretty," he stated sincerely. She looked down at her wardrobe and back up at him.

"You've got to be kidding me. I hate these clothes," she replied smothering her disgust.

"I wasn't looking at your clothes." Her face softened, and she instantly regretted underestimating his affection for her—thinking for a moment that the surface was what mattered to him.

"Thank you," she looked at him when she remembered the appropriate response. "And you look much better than the last time I saw you."

"I'm really going to have to teach you how to give compliments."

"Just add it to the list of things you can beat me at."

"I would, but I'm running out of paper."

"As if," she said competitively.

"As if?" he asked unbelieving. "How old are you?"

"Does that matter?"

"Well, yeah. I'm over 18, and at this point, I'm not so sure about you."

"Whatever!" His eyebrow shot up at her second highly juvenile remark.

"Oh my, God. I'm a pedophile," he replied laughingly.

"Are you finished?" she asked in annoyance.

"Yes. Do you want a piece of candy?" he asked to spite her.

"Is it the apple suckers with the caramel stuff?" she asked genuinely. He laughed and she smiled. "What? I happen to like candy."

"And you should. I'd be sorry to contemplate a world without confections."

"So you see that guy over there in the plaid shirt?"

"Glasses and bad mustache?"

"Yeah. He totally glared at you when you said you were a pedophile. I think he's going to report you."

"Let him. It'll be the least of my worries."

"The least?

"It'll be near the bottom anyway."

"Kind of a little sad, don't you think?"

"Absolutely. You know what else is sad?" he asked. "It's really sad that you were talking to Marshall through IM instead of walking across the office and having a conversation with him."

"No way. If I'm sitting at my computer I don't have to produce a reason for talking to him because I'm 'working on my report.' Besides, there are some things that are easier to type than they are to say."

"Really? You had to tell him you had a secret crush on him?"

"L-O-L, Vaughn," she replied blandly. "Not easier for me. Easier for him. He was talking to me about stuff. At home."

"I see. Is everything all right?" he asked with concern. She looked at him conflicted, and he saw her hesitation. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's not that I don't—"

"I know. It's fine. I just wasn't thinking. So it's easier that way?"

"It can be, I guess. Especially for people that have trouble with saying what they mean. Some people are better with the written word. Some of the most famous authors were reclusive. They hardly ever talked to anyone. Except probably themselves, but look what they were able to accomplish on paper. I think there are a lot of people like that."

"Are you one of them?"

"I don't know. Probably depends on the topic. And the audience."

"So what if I asked you about... I don't know... What about Will?"

"Will?" she dropped her eyes to the now fascinating lid on her coffee cup.

"Yeah. I'm curious. In spite of myself."

"Curious about what?" she asked nervously.

"I think you know what," he stated. There was no anger in his tone, but it was not the friendly joking they had been sharing.

"Look, it's not like I was cheating on you. I don't see what the problem is."

"I know. There's no problem. But you _did _sleep with him, so obviously there are _some_ feelings there," he explained. "It just makes me wonder if there always were."

"You mean, before? When you and I were together," she concluded.

"Yeah."

"No. I mean, yeah, he was my best friend, and I love him. But it wasn't like that. I thought for a while in the beginning that it might be, but it wasn't." They were silent for an uneasy moment. Insecurity was an ugly beast. One revelation could cause you to question everything about even the most concrete of truths, and that is what it was doing to him. "I guess, I thought you knew, but I didn't want anyone else. Just you."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Yes, you should have," she interrupted. "This is me, Vaughn. I know you're not accusing me of anything." He looked at her with a lost gaze that was full of tangible pain, and it occurred to her once again how much he must have hurt the past few years. She had too, and she would not forget it, but the look in his eyes forced her to look through his eyes for just a moment.

"Thank you," he responded with emotion. She leaned across the table to take his hand in her own.

"You're welcome. Now," she said lightening her tone slightly, "Walk with me?"

"Okay," he answered suspiciously. "Where to?"

"Just around. Let's go."

* * *

Sitting on a park bench later that night with twilight long since passed they held hands and talked about current happenings, leaving the past where it was. She shared with him about the adjustments she was making now that she had a sister. She told him how it felt to know that she was no longer alone in the "messed up-ness" of her family life. He told her about some of his close calls with Weiss, and nearly letting the cat out of the bag concerning his new job.

"Can I ask why you took the job?" she asked blatantly with her innocent curiosity showing through vividly.

"Probably the same reasons you did," he answered looking her in the eye. She looked away and he continued. "I think we were both maybe looking for an easy out. To get away from things that were difficult to face. And honestly, I really do like my job. I like knowing that what I do for a living is not a total waste of my time. Even though it doesn't always feel that way."

"I know what you mean. Sometimes I look at people in their normal jobs and I'm jealous, and then other days I look at them and I wonder how they find any meaning in their life." She studied his eyes briefly. "But then maybe they find it in something other than their work," she finished uncertainly.

"Maybe. Maybe they know something we don't."

"Maybe."

Later back at the coffee shop he walked with her to her car. She leaned back against the driver's side door with a smile. He faced her with his hands in his pockets.

"Thank you," she said simply. "It was a good night."

"Thank _you_," he answered. "Are you sure you want to go home?"

"Do you have another suggestion?"

"Always," he answered rakishly. She kissed his cheek and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He did not fail to respond to her advance, but it was obvious what her hug meant in response to his suggestion.

"Soon," she answered. "Not tonight, but soon."

"I know. But if I didn't ask, I might end up waiting longer than necessary, and that would just be, well, unnecessary." She held him in the extensive hug with her face hidden deep in the crook of his neck. She noted the pleasant smell that resulted in the combination of his cologne and the leather of his jacket. She barely stopped herself from kissing the soft skin by turning her face into his shoulder.

His arms encompassed her slim torso, forcing her body solidly against his own. He observed that she was far from resistant, and he could not help but smile. One hand rested low on her back and the other sneaked upward to tangle its fingers in the long, silk strands of her hair—so inviting. It was all he could do not to imagine the feel of it falling against his skin as they made love. He cradled the back of her head in his hand as he pulled away from her embrace and softly kissed her hair. They kissed briefly and she turned to leave. Opening the car door and turning back, she kissed him with the door between them.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," she said.

"Tomorrow," he answered with a smile.

* * *

Sydney exited the subway car and made her way to the APO entrance. Last night had made yesterday a good day. She knew there would still be difficulties, but she was confident now in the strength of her bond with Vaughn. Much of their conversation had been light and friendly. However, there were moments when it could have turned ugly, and it did not. Instead it seemed, strangely enough, to have been constructive. It would take time, but it was better. It would get better. She powered up her computer and settled in to type her password when her fingers met an obstruction. There on her keyboard was caramel apple lollipop with a note attached to it. She unfolded the note and read, "Missed you last night. Can't wait to see you today." Her smile was indomitable as her eyes searched the office eagerly for him. She spotted him in the corner talking to Dixon over a file and caught his attention. She forced herself to remain in her chair when she caught sight of his subdued grin and laughing eyes. Today might be a good day too.


	5. Speed Demons

"Speed Demons"

The game had been a fun reminder of days gone by, but much to the relief of both Sydney and Vaughn, those days gone by did not seem to be the focal point of the evening. The past would always be with them, but both of them seemed to be more focused on being in the moment than in reminiscing. If they were not careful they might just find themselves looking forward.

"Okay, so if a game ends in a tie then who wins?"

"Nobody wins," he explained as he pulled out of the parking garage into the heavy downtown traffic.

"But it's still good?" she asked trying to understand why he was not entirely peeved about the Kings tie with the Stars.

"Well, not really. But it's not horrible. Overall. Each game is worth two points. A win earns a team two points in the overall standings for the season and a tie earns one point for both teams." He finished his explanation just in time to cut into the next lane, checking his blind spot as an afterthought.

"How pointless is that. It's like the game never even happened; Like a total waste of time."

"Like I said, it's not great. But it's better than nothing." Traffic was at a standstill flooded with the after-game crowd.

"So, you are really committed to this then," she concluded.

"Yeah. That's me. I'm in it for the duration." She wondered if he intended that comment for more than just the Kings, but decided not to read into it. "And it's not a complete waste because it still gives the team one point over the other teams in the division. It just doesn't give them an edge over the team they played."

"Oh, I get it!" she said, realization dawning on her as it sank in. "Kind of like the Alliance. The Alliance was destroyed which was good. But Sloane wanted it too so it was bad. God! My major life's achievement is a tie. How much does that suck?" He laughed a little at her frustration. "Not funny, Vaughn."

"Maybe not, but it is a little funny that you use terrorism to understand sports. Most people do it the other way around."

"Hey, it's all in what you know," she responded seeing the humor in the truth of what he said. "Dammit, Vaughn!" She screamed as he jerked the car to the left with no warning. "We're not going to get out any faster if we're dead!"

"Relax. We're fine," he responded carelessly.

"I think you're the one that needs to relax. Maybe this tie is affecting you more than you're letting on."

"I'm fine. Just trying to get us out of here."

"Are you wearing your seatbelt?" she asked in disbelief seeing clearly that he was not.

"Why should I? We're not even moving."

"That's not the point. You're in the car; you shou—"

"Jesus, Syd! I'm not five years old. I've got this," he interrupted her more abruptly than he intended, causing the ensuing silence. The only soundtrack to their brooding was the squeaking of dilapidated break pads, over-compensating bass and impatient car horns. Vaughn grew angry at himself for his outburst. That night had been very nearly perfect up until then. Weiss seemed to have expected it when he told him he would not be joining him to watch the game on TV. Sydney had hidden the tickets in a file on his desk—the first one he looked at that day—with a note: "You have plans for the evening." Even if he had not known her handwriting, the ridiculous heart above the "i" would have given it away. She would definitely experience some teasing repercussions for that. He remembered watching her smile during the pre-game warm-ups and thinking there was nothing quite so beautiful or fulfilling to see. He loved that she had dutifully and happily worn her Kings hoodie even though she had no idea how a tie affected overall season standings and also that she had refused to take her gloves inside, even though she knew her hands always got cold at a game. He remembered subsequently that she had borrowed his hands to warm up saying, "Guess I should have brought my gloves in," in a fashion so unapologetically that there was no doubt it had been an intentional ploy. He remembered walking back to the car in the crowd with her hand still in his and the other affectionately wrapped around his arm. Looking down at her then, it occurred to him that luck did not begin to describe what he was experiencing. The things that had to be overcome to get to this point had been insurmountable from every conceivable perspective, but here she was next to him. She was happy. She was with him. He did not deserve this, and he knew it. But here she was. And then he had foiled it. He lost his temper and barked at her about something completely unimportant. Maybe not something that could destroy them, but it held the potential to turn the evening from a win into a tie. Traffic was still at a standstill, and at the moment it was probably a fortunate obstruction.

She sat in silence, berating herself for her nagging outburst. She knew he was right. He could handle himself. He had done it for three years without her. Could a fifteen second argument ruin their relationship? Of course not. But it was not going to make the trip home a barrel of laughs either. She had wanted to do something for him after all he had done for her in the past year. She knew she dumped all her problems on him and he never complained. As long as she had known him, he had been her go to. The one person she knew would be on her side no matter what. The one person she could always trust. When she learned about his marriage to Lauren, she thought that was gone, but he had still proven himself to be her ally. Hockey tickets were hardly a suitable compensation for three years of constant friendship, but it was all she could think of. She knew that she could not force him to talk about Lauren or anything else he was going through. He would probably never talk to her about any of it. He was her ally, and he knew it would hurt her. He would never talk.

"I'm sorry, Syd," she heard from beside her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"It's fine," she answered a little too quickly. Still without making eye contact, she continued. "It was my fault. You're right. You've been just fine without me, and you don't need me giving you driver's ed pointers."

"No, you're right. I was being reckless." He answered. She heard a faint snick and looked over to see him buckled into the seat.

"What are you doing?" she asked now looking at him in annoyance.

"Nothing," he replied innocently.

"You buckled your seatbelt."

"Yes," he answered smiling, fully knowing why she was irritated.

"I can't believe you're just giving in like that."

"I'm not giving in. You made a logical point."

"Take it off!" she demanded.

"Here? In the middle of all this traffic," he teased.

"Shut up! Take off the damned seatbelt."

"No thank you."

"Vaughn, I can accept that you're not going to do everything that I think you should."

"That's good. But you're also going to have to accept the fact that if you make a logical point about the stupidity of my behavior, I might just listen to you."

"Fine."

"Fine? I can't believe you're just giving in like that." He mimicked her earlier comment with a raised eyebrow and a touch of humor. She grinned in resignation and turned her attention forward toward the traffic outside. With her eyes no longer on him he allowed his amused smirk full dominion of his countenance. He relaxed a little with what seemed to be an averted disaster now behind them. Her still chilled fingers picked up his hand from the console and pulled it up to her lips for a reconciliatory kiss. His eyes turned to hers as his thumbprint gently brushed her lip.

"Sorry," he offered again.

"Me too," she answered softly. Both of them seemed to know that they were not apologizing for the things that they had said but for the fact that they had said them. They apologized for tarnishing the mood of the evening, and with that everything seemed to have been said. He turned the heat a little warmer and then rested their still joined hands between them. They rested in the peaceable silence once again until he spoke.

"You really think I was fine?" he asked quietly.

"What?" she asked not following the reference.

"Without you. Because I wasn't. Just so you know. I know that probably isn't what you meant, but I was anything but fine." She sat thinking about what he was telling her and remembering a conversation from long ago. _"I was so in love with you, it nearly killed me," _he had said. She had wondered several times since then exactly what he meant by that—all of it. First of all, how in love was he? Did he see a definite future for them? He had yet to really tell her that he loved her. But apparently he had. It nearly killed him? Was that just an exaggeration? Or was it literal? Did he get sick? She had a suspicion from his other comments that he had spent a very long time at the bottom of a bottle, but no way of knowing how bad it had been. And now it occurred to her that she had not just been robbed of two years of her life, but she was also missing two years of his life. What had happened to him? Where had he been? Who had he been with? There was so much about him that she no longer knew.

"I know," was all she replied. There seemed to be a quiet acceptance of the pain since they both knew they could not change it. Finally, with a sudden turn he made his way out of traffic and onto a side street. "Have you always driven like this?" she asked benignly.

"Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, I guess not. It's just very... aggressive," she finished just in time to see him passing a slow moving vehicle left of center.

"Is that a problem?"

"No. Just different."

"Where are we going?"

"Home. It's the scenic route. Unless you wanted to go somewhere?"

"I'm kind of tired. Long day."

"Yeah."

"Doesn't the 'scenic route' usually carry the connotation of traveling _slowly_?"

"You're the English major. Why ask me?"

"Well because I was using what is called a rhetorical question. This can occur when one person attempts to make a point to another person about his or her behavior without taking on a tone of accusation. Among other uses," she finished smiling and kissing his hand again.

"I see. Well, who says the scene has to be one that is viewed outside of the vehicle?"

"Excellent point. Take it off." she deadpanned. He smiled at her from across the car and she could not restrain her amusement.

"While driving?" he asked seriously. "Don't you think that might be a little reckless?"

"You're right. Forget it."

"Think about this. My girlfriend just told me to strip in the car, in public, and you want me to forget it? What happened to that logic you used earlier?"

"Well, maybe when I told you to 'forget it,' what I really meant was, 'don't you wish you could forget it?'"

"Well, either way the answer is no."

"So, what you're saying is that you're a little bit of an exhibitionist?"

"Come on. Like you've never done it."

"Maybe, but we're not talking about me."

"So you have done it."

"I didn't say that."

"But you didn't not say that."

"It doesn't matter. We're talking about you. And you are really surprising. Mr. Rulebook has fantasies about breaking the rules. You know you could get cited for indecent exposure. And lewd behavior."

"That's why you shouldn't get caught."

"And if you do?"

"I'm a spy. I didn't get caught."

"So you have done it. In a car?"

"You don't need to know that."

"No, but I'd like to."

"So would I. You first."

"No way. This is your show, so to speak," she teased.

"Why waste time talking about past experiences when we could be having current ones?" he dared.

"Because your past experiences give the people in your life a point of reference for what behavior and suggestions would be embraced and which ones would be frowned upon."

"That was a really good speech," he responded. "But I'm not telling you."

"Fine. Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over. Let's make a memory."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Syd, I don't think the back seat is really an appropriate setting for this. Not this time."

"You're absolutely right. But you can't tell me that you haven't been dying to kiss me all night," she taunted confidently. He smiled as he looked in the rear view mirror. Rapidly decelerating he found an empty space against the curb and parked. No sooner had he shifted into park than he found her stretching across him trapping him against the seat. She was tightly gripping the seatbelt which had so recently been a point of contention. She pinned him unyieldingly against the seat and stared him down with a nearly predatory gaze. "Have you, Vaughn?" she asked in dangerously tempting tones. His breath left him both in surprise at her sudden assertiveness and at the closeness of her lips to his. He attempted a raspy affirmation, but she did not accept it. "Didn't hear you. Was that a yes?"

"Yes," he barely managed while trying to reach out to her mouth. She avoided his attempt and raised a scolding eyebrow at him. He nearly blacked out when his head landed gently on the seat.

"Wait, baby."

"Why?" he asked impatiently.

"It's better that way," she explained.

"No it's not."

"Uh-huh. Anticipation, remember?"

"Don't care."

"You have the patience of a two-year old."

"Please, Syd," he asked desperately. She could not refuse the frantic look in his eyes. Still holding him down she moved her knee across his lap and seated herself on his knees. She moved her left hand down from his shoulder and along his side. Slipping gently down to his hip, she unfastened the seat belt.

"Wait," she warned as she released the grip of her right hand as well. The only thing holding him down now was the intensity of her stare as she untangled him from the seatbelt. She took his hands in her own and deliberately placed each one on her hips just a little lower than he would have. Her attention returned to his eyes finding even more desperation than there had been a moment ago. She smiled at him sweetly and brought a gentle hand up to the side of his face. Her fingers subtly caressed his skin as her smile grew. But her abrupt change of direction into tenderness had done nothing to quell his desire to touch her. She leaned down to his lips and was not met with pacifism. They were entangled in one another both physically and emotionally. All she wanted in this moment was to fulfill him as much as she possibly could. She wanted to give him everything that he needed. She wanted to make some kind of amends for the pain he had experienced. He knew that no words he said to her could ever take away his marriage to Lauren, and that her trust and forgiveness were all he really wanted from this moment. If only for a moment. He would have waited for that kiss as long as she wanted, but he was grateful she had not withheld too long.

After exceeding the free parking time limit, she sat back against the steering wheel, staring gently at his hungry yet happy face. She smiled bashfully and tucked her unruly hair behind her ears.

"Do I still get a goodnight kiss when I drop you off?" he asked smiling.

"I don't see why not," she answered as she leaned to move off of his legs.

"Wait," he said placing his hand on her arm. "Come here." She obeyed as his hands pulled her back to his chest. He held her for a moment just regaining his composure and reveling in the peace of the moment. "Thank you," he said softly.

"You're welcome," she answered chuckling slightly. With a resigned sigh he spoke again.

"Guess we should get going then." She lifted up her head and laughed again as stray strands of her hair refused to leave the stubble on his chin. She brushed it away and moved back to her seat fixing her eyes on him.

"And now I have to drive," he complained happily. "You get to sit there in recovery, and I have to drive. Life is so unfair."

"But you liked it." His response was unnecessary and therefore not uttered. As they navigated through the streets to her home, he rested in the fact that in spite of a minor bump, tonight had definitely not ended in a tie.


	6. Seven Minutes in Heaven

"Seven Minutes in Heaven"

The once pristine living room was now littered with disposable dinnerware, forgotten jackets, two pairs of abandoned eyeglasses and quite strangely only one ladies stiletto heel. The crowd had gone, and as Sydney led the final guest to the door her smile instantly faded into exhaustion. She dragged herself back to the sofa collecting the stray shoe along the way and collapsed next to Vaughn with Weiss and Nadia watching from adjacent chairs.

"You know it's a good party when you can't tell you're leaning 5 inches to the right," she commented referencing the unfortunate owner of the left shoe.

"Look at you, all tuckered out from a little old birthday party," Weiss teased. "Here, let me turn the music down for you. Don't want to give you a migraine."

"Bite me, Eric. And off would be better," she replied.

"Wow. Tragic. Absolutely tragic," he finished with a shake of his head as he clicked off the stereo.

"Don't you have work in the morning, Sydney?" Nadia asked. "Why don't you leave this mess for me and Eric to clean up. I'm sure he wouldn't mind helping out," she volunteered for him. He was working in the morning too, but he'd be damned if he was going to bring that up when she was suggesting they do anything together in the same room. Sydney and Vaughn simultaneously and uncontrollably arched one eyebrow at the total lack of subtlety Nadia was displaying. Weiss's only response was to fervently agree to her plan.

"Since you feel so strongly about it, how can I refuse?" Sydney agreed only letting a trace of uneasiness show through her acquiescence.

"Yeah. Ya really can't," he responded.

"Rhetorical, Eric. Ask Vaughn what it means, if you don't know."

"Funny. Are we done here, 'cause you look reeeally tired." Eric prodded.

"I can't believe it. I'm being sent to bed in my own home," she mused to Vaughn who sat silently beside her smirking. "Okay, but I'm going to get a box for all this lost and found stuff. Maybe we can figure out who it belongs to eventually."

"Uh, I'm thinking that tan suede now belongs to me," Eric claimed. "I'll just consider it a birthday gift." Sydney stifled a chuckle as she walked into the bedroom. Moments later she appeared in the doorway.

"Vaughn, can you help me reach this box?" Apparently subtlety had taken a leave of absence from both sisters. Once Sydney was out of earshot again, Weiss eyed Vaughn who was now standing up to help her.

"Dude, she totally wants you," Eric offered jovially.

"Shut up, Weiss."

"Yeah. Shutting." Nadia was laughing softly from the kitchen where she was opening up a trash bag. Vaughn disappeared into the bedroom and Weiss turned to her, "She wants him... Doesn't she?" he asked a sudden flash of doubt entering his mind.

"How should I know? I barely know either of them," she replied.

* * *

Vaughn walked into the bedroom, and she closed the door behind him. Whether it was from Eric's suggestion or the way they had said goodnight after the game last night, he could not tell, but he was almost expecting to be attacked when he walked into the room. Instead he was met with the other Sydney. She looked soft and small and very tired as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him closely. He held onto her a moment before he spoke.

"Are you okay?"

"Mm-hmm. Just wanted a hug," she answered in muffled tones as her words collided with his neck.

"You had to lure me to your bedroom under false pretenses just to hug me?" he asked amusedly. "I really don't think they would have minded."

"But then how would I get the box down?"

"Oh, so there _is_ a box?"

"Yep." She pointed to the top shelf of the closet as she released him from the hug and he completed the assigned task and returned to her.

"I'll see you in the morning then?" he asked turning to see her closing a drawer.

"Actually, would you mind staying for a while?" she asked looking up from the neatly folded pajamas in her hands. He smiled slightly at the absurdity of the question.

"I think I could manage it," he answered smilingly.

"I'll just, uh," he said pointing to the box. "I'll be right back."

"Hurry," she encouraged.

Weiss and Nadia had already gathered the pile of left behind belongings and thrown them into a vacant chair, and Vaughn began transferring the pile of items into the box.

"Dude, Weiss!"

"Yeah, man?"

"This is _my_ jacket."

"What? Do you think I spend my free time cataloguing your wardrobe. Sick, man. Real sick." Eric's attention was diverted as Nadia left to dispose of a bag of trash but was regained when he saw that Vaughn was not putting his jacket on but headed back to the bedroom.

"Hey? Do we need to finish this later?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"What? Why?"

"I mean... did she... are you... staying?" he asked with a hint of excitement for his friend.

"No," Vaughn nearly squeaked out, "I mean, not very long. I promise you won't hear any screaming."

"That is just way more detail than I ever needed to know about you. And her for that matter."

"Shut up, Weiss."

"Yeah," he answered to the bedroom door as it closed.

* * *

Sydney exited the bathroom just as Vaughn was closing the door. The sight of her long-legged yoga pants and tank top brought back a lot of memories that he tried desperately to set aside for later.

"Hey," she began, "They still cleaning?"

"Yup. Weiss thinks we're having sex. He also thinks that I'm not very good at it. " She smiled broadly as she walked to the bed and laid herself down between the sheets.

"The important thing is that _we _know the truth. On both counts."

"I don't have to stay if you're tired." He said sitting down next to her on the bedside.

"Would you?" she asked again.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I'm sure you're tired too, and we both have work," she justified. "Damn banker's hours."

"It's okay. I won't be able to sleep for a while yet, anyway."

"Lay with me?"

"Sure. Shouldn't that be _lie_?" he asked as he moved to the vacant side.

"Yeah. Sounds funny though," she answered turning to face him as he stretched out on top of the bed and propped himself on his elbow. "I think I'm going to have to talk to Nadia. About Eric."

"You think she's gonna screw him over?"

"I don't know. I hate to think that way, but in reality, I don't know that much about her. Except that she's my sister, and she could kick his ass in a fight."

"Unlike our relationship."

"You wish. I could totally take you," she challenged.

"Keep dreaming."

"I will. I'm estimating ten minutes and I am out."

"I'm thinking more like twelve," he offered. "I'm making an extra allowance for your stubbornness."

"You like it," she stated plainly as she scooted closer, her nonverbal language asking to be touched. He complied, reaching out his free hand to brush back the bangs that were perpetually falling in her eyes, especially now when she was on her side. She sighed contentedly as he continued to stroke her hair. "Maybe eight minutes if you keep doing that."

"I like these." He smiled brushing his finger along the bottom of the fringe.

"Yeah? I'm glad," she offered sleepily. "I like this." She said scratching her fingertips lightly against the scruff on his chin. "It's crazy-sexy."

"Crazy-sexy?" he almost laughed. "You really are tired."

"Yeah," she admitted smilingly as her eyes fell shut. "And maybe a little too much wine."

"_En vino veritas_?"

"Yeah. And _en vino _exhaustitas." He chuckled at her ramblings which were quickly becoming incoherent. "Too bad I'm too tired to do anything about the other thing that wine does to me."

"The other thing?" he asked.

"Yeah." She looked up at him with a faint blush rising to her cheek. "You know. The other thing."

"Ooh. The other thing. That is too bad. Next time, okay?"

"No question."

He watched her fade quickly into restful slumber. He was still stroking her hair when her breathing slowed to an even and peaceful cadence. She looked so much like a child when she slept—so trusting, so small, so content. She let out a small sigh and burrowed further into her pillow. All he wanted in that moment was to protect her from everything that would threaten her, anything that would make her unhappy, anything that would cause her pain. He remembered when she came back. At that time the only thing more repulsive to him than lying to Lauren would have been allowing any harm to come to Sydney. Lying to Lauren had upset him because it offended his sense of morality. Not protecting Sydney would have offended his soul. Maybe it stemmed from the fact that protecting her had been his job for so long. Maybe it was instinct from too many nearly fatal missions. Or maybe it was because he loved her and that made her happiness his responsibility. Whatever the reason, he knew that if it were up to him, she would never suffer again.

* * *

Vaughn quietly opened the door and was careful not to slam it on his way out.

"Eleven minutes and 15 seconds! Ladies and gentlemen! We have a new world record holder in the category of the world's worst sexual encoun—"

"Weiss!" Vaughn yelled in a whisper, "Quiet! She's sleeping."

"Oh man. Was it that bad?" he grimaced.

"Look, just because I turned in my gun doesn't mean I don't still have my knives. And I can still kick your ass," Vaughn threatened.

"Yeah, but you won't," Weiss replied confidently,

"You're right. But that cat of yours—Geronimo—she had better watch her back," Vaughn warned.

"Dude, Geronimo is a boy."

"Yeah? Do me a favor. Check that out again tomorrow."

"Oh, that's cold. You wouldn't. Would you?"

"Try me. Go ahead. You know you've got one more crack in there just dying to come out," Vaughn baited. Weiss looked a little tentative weighing the risks and the benefits and finally deciding to keep his mouth shut.

"That's just twisted man. An innocent animal? Sick."

"My therapist warned you when you let me move in with you."

"Not about this man." Vaughn smirked in satisfaction as he turned to finish the clean up before heading home for what he hoped would be a restful night's sleep. It had been a while, but maybe Sydney's exhaustion had rubbed off on him.


	7. Breach of Covenant

**WARNING**: This chapter is a real downer! At least it was for me, but happier installments are on the way.

"Breach of Covenant"

The Valta technology had been secured from Bishop, and Sydney was at home with Nadia who had just killed the man she thought had murdered her mother. Now Sydney was with her and was doubtless battling every moment with whether or not to tell her the truth. Weiss and Vaughn entered the apartment together and dropped their bags in the middle of the entryway.

"I can't believe you've been lying to me for, what, a month now?" Weiss stated sarcastically. "How could you? You cut me deep."

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Vaughn responded.

"Yeah, well, all I can say is it's nice to be back—or I guess not back, but, anyway that office was a total bore without you guys."

"I'm sure you'll have the APO staff neglecting their duties in favor of a good time by noon tomorrow."

"I do aim to please," Weiss justified. "Hey does Syd know that you're not working tomorrow?"

"No, I didn't tell her."

"Any reason?"

"No. Just didn't seem important," he stated casually. "She'll figure it out tomorrow."

"I'm sure she will. Do ya really think that's a wise move?"

"Why not?"

"I mean, women like to know what's goin' on. Sydney especially. Keep 'em in the dark about somethin', and they usually, ya know, keep you in the dark about a lot of other things that are..." Weiss attempted with one cocked eyebrow. "Okay, bad metaphor. In other words, ya won't be gettin' any. Which means, you'll be on my couch. Which means, I won't be gettin' any."

"And you think that would be different if I weren't here?"

"Hey, first things first," Weiss answered. "Besides, I kind of feel responsible for you guys."

"That's really sweet. Thank you," Vaughn stated sarcastically.

"Hey, after listening to the both of you whine and complain for the past year about the unfairness of the universe, I should get a cut of the wedding gifts."

"_Wedding _gifts?" Vaughn's unbelief raised the pitch of his voice.

"And it wasn't even the whining that was bad," he continued ignoring Vaughn's semi-terrified expression. "It was the _not _whining. Yeah, that's right. The not talking was worse. She wasn't so bad about that, but you were terrible. Always sulking. Horrible."

"Sulking?"

"Yeah, ya heard me. You just couldn't come out and say how much the whole thing sucked until it was already over."

"And not complaining is now a problem?" Vaughn asked in irritation.

"It is. It forces me to guess. I don't like that."

"Sorry to inconvenience you. The next time my dead girlfriend that I happen to still be in love with comes back to life after I've just gotten married to someone else whom I also care about, I'll be sure to be more considerate of _your_ feelings," Vaughn's annoyance at Weiss's ridiculous inconsideration was painfully evident.

"That's all I ask."

"I'm going for a run," Vaughn informed as he left the room.

* * *

The pounding in his ears was a comfort of sorts. The burning in his muscles and the ache in his back were welcomed. After all, pain is just weakness leaving the body. He did not usually experience this kind of drive to improve physically. Although complacency about physical conditioning was not an option in his profession, he had never before derived so much pleasure or satisfaction from it. A ten mile jog after an afternoon in the gym would have been an absurdity in days gone by, but now it was his comrade. It offered some relief from the reminiscent thoughts constantly assaulting his mind. He slowed to a walk as he approached the turn home. His lungs burned pleasantly as he filled them with the cool night air. _"He's a wife killer!" _Marshall had not intended any reference to Vaughn by his comment, but it was still there. Through the whole mission it had stung him at every turn. Did people see him this way? Did it really matter? He saw himself that way.

He made quick work of the street before him and found himself approaching Syd's home. There was no way he could talk to her about this. Vaguely he felt that he should. She deserved honesty from him. But she did not deserve the pain that would come from it. A discussion about Lauren violated every instinct he had to protect Sydney. There had to be a way to work through it without involving her. If he could just get past it, she would never have to worry about it. She deserved happiness. She deserved to focus on her own life, on Nadia, on her father, on dealing with Sloane as her boss. She deserved simplicity for once. The last thing she needed was him dumping his problems on her too. The pleasant ache was gone and had become pure pain. It felt good. He passed Sydney's home and walked on toward the cheese nip covered couch at Weiss's. He looked forward to another tortured night. And hoped that tomorrow would afford enough exhaustion to let him sleep.

* * *

Sydney sat at her desk distractedly working on yet another report, this time time for the Bishop case. She nervously glanced over at Vaughn's desk. He was definitely late. A few minutes was one thing, but this was extreme. She was starting to move beyond annoyance and into genuine concern. When he reached a half an hour late, she stood up and approached Weiss who, incidentally, had been glancing nervously at her desk. He knew he would be the one that ended up being the go-between. Why Vaughn had failed to tell her, he did not know. Maybe he was actually trying to make her angry.

"Hey Eric. Have you seen Vaughn this morning?"

"He mentioned he was taking the day off."

"Just, taking the day off?" she asked with apparent confusion.

"Yeah, something about, he just," Weiss hesitated, "needed a break, I think." Sydney shook her head affirmatively.

"Of course. Makes sense. Listen, you should come over for dinner sometime next week," she finished changing the subject.

"Yeah, sure. That'd be good," Weiss finished demurely and out of character as she turned and walked away. He knew she was upset, but she would never let him see it.

Why had he deliberately not told her? She tried to be understanding. She tried to give him the space he needed to get over the past. She tried to make him feel safe enough to come to her with anything that was going on. In spite of what she may try to do, she knew that there were some things that still affected them that were outside of her control. Then again, maybe he was taking a day off from her. If he truly needed a break that was one thing, but if he was intentionally pushing her away that was another. Unfortunately, she had gotten the feeling more and more lately that she was an intrusion to him. They still talked, they still joked, they still spent time together, but to the important stuff she was an outsider. He seemed to be almost insistent on keeping her out of his heart. He seemed to refuse every time the conversation turned semi-serious. He seemed to be holding her at arm's length. She could understand that he needed time to deal with things in his own way, but she also needed to know that he trusted her before she could fully trust him. She entered the ladies room and leaned up against the wall. Pulling out her phone she dialed his number but was not surprised when it went straight to voicemail.

"Hey Vaughn. Weiss told me you were taking the day off. I was just, uh, just calling to make sure everything was good. I guess, I'll talk to you later. Call me if you want? Okay. Bye." She closed her phone and her eyes and breathed deeply. What else could she do? A defeated Sydney exited the bathroom and walked soberly back to her desk to resume her day sans Vaughn.

* * *

Sydney sat on her sofa cuddling a throw pillow and holding a book as she stared mindlessly at the page. All signs pointed to a relaxed posture, but every muscle was uneasy. Vaughn had not called her back. While she was probably worrying over nothing, she was unable to shake the feeling that this was part of a larger problem. She resignedly closed the novel and set it aside in favor of burying the majority of her face in the soft pillow. The phone rang out and she answered it quickly—a little too quickly.

"Vaughn?" she answered with a little panic in her voice.

"Hey Syd. What's up?" He asked casually, disarming her uneasiness a bit.

"Um, you know," she answered calming herself, "Just reading. How about you? What did you do on your day off?"

"Nothing much. Just spent it at the rink."

"Figures," she remarked, now smiling at herself for her useless worry. "You wanna come over for a little while?"

"I think I'm just going to head home. I'm a little tired. But I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," maybe he did need time away from her. "So did you win?"

"Um, sort of. Won the game, but my shoulder's a little messed up."

"Does it hurt?"

"Hell yes!" his mind screamed. Instead he answered, "No, not really. Just a little bruise."

"Good. Glad you had a good day."

"Did I miss anything?"

"We've got a meet set up for tomorrow. Flying to Algeria to make an exchange with a guy who's supposed to have a new weapon being developed by this terrorist cell."

"So nothing out of the ordinary. What am I doing?"

"Just surveillance, I think, but we've got another briefing before we leave."

"Oh goody. Love those," he stated flatly, "Listen, I'm gonna go and I'll talk to you in the morning, okay? I'm really out of it."

"Okay. You didn't get any head shots did you?" she smiled.

"No. Well, no more than normal."

"All right, well, I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"'Kay. Hey Vaughn?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you today," she answered softly.

"Yeah? I missed you too, Syd." His smile was the first she'd heard from him all night.

"Good, 'cause you're stuck with me tomorrow," she threatened.

"I can't wait."

"Me either. Night."

"Goodnight, Syd."

* * *

The ceiling stared back at him, a menacing reminder of every memory that refused him rest. It stood before him as a blank canvas on which to replay the moments time and time again. On that canvas he saw Sydney's home burned to ashes. He saw himself sitting in the midst of the rubble staring at her remains. He saw the sunny day of her funeral that mocked the darkness of his pain. He remembered being completely vacant during the service and how none of it had seemed important. Then the worst of it descended.

He saw the weeks after her disappearance and the vacuum that filled his mind. He had no memories. He doubted he had been sober for any of it. It was during these weeks that he had realized exactly what his life would consist of without her. Misery was his only companion. No one else was allowed in. He remembered the night he sat at his dining room table with a fresh bottle of scotch and his .45 wondering which of them would do more good. He remembered how the only thing that had stopped him from using both of them was the knowledge that Sydney would never have forgiven him if she knew.

The scene skipped ahead to Lauren. She had been his salvation at the time. Even now, knowing everything that she had been, he could not shake the feeling that he owed her his life. She had given him something to think about other than Sydney. She had distracted him from his pain. And even though this had brought with it a fresh wave of guilt, he knew that his mind could not endure many more nights alone. So reluctantly he continued to see her, hoping that the self-destructive thoughts would eventually subside. And eventually they did. He remembered talking to Weiss about Lauren, asking him if he thought it was too soon to be thinking about anyone else, and the encouragement Weiss had given him that it was what Sydney would want. He did not hold Weiss to blame for it though. It was his own weakness that had caused him to need someone else. Then he remembered their wedding. It had been a small affair. There had not been time for anything large with so little time to plan, and she did not want to wait. He certainly had not objected, and again he cursed his weakness.

Then he saw it. There he was with Sydney in his arms, and Lauren struggling to stand up. He saw every detail vividly as he raised his hand, and commissioned the remainder of the magazine into her chest. He heard the crash of each report and saw the repeated muzzle flash in front of his eyes. He saw her body jerk with the impact of each hit. Finally he saw her body as it tipped over the edge and out of sight. Then she was gone. He had not seen her again. He had refused. She was dead and gone. She had most likely saved him from his own death, and he had killed her. Yes, the whole thing had been orchestrated by the Covenant. Yes, they had engineered the need for Lauren from the beginning, but that could not take away the guilt he felt as a result of ending her life. In spite of how things had ended, he had loved her. That had ceased when he found out what she was, but there were times in the beginning when he knew he genuinely loved her. That was then.

Unfortunately, it was not love for Lauren that was keeping him awake. It was guilt. It was simple enough, and he knew it. It was wrong for him to kill her. He did not have to kill her to keep her from harming Sydney or himself. It would have been simple enough to restrain her and take her in for information. But he had acted on his rage unable to see anything beyond killing her. He was too blinded to anticipate the regret he was feeling now as a result of his decision. Had it been the result of an impulse it would have been easier to excuse, but the premeditation of his plans prior to killing her were evidence of just how far he had slipped. He wondered now if there was any way to return to naivete. Would it be possible to recapture the innocence of untested morals and idealism of the past? Could he live with himself now that he knew who he really was? Desperately he sought the answer in the darkness before him, but neither that nor sleep would come to him tonight. It was one more night in a line of many in which he would exchange rest and peace for torment and self loathing, understanding acutely that truly there is no peace for the wicked.


	8. Tumult of Silence

"Tumult of Silence"

Sydney had felt like an intruder again. But only because she knew that this was something that did not concern her. She stood there watching Kiera MacLaine dying in Vaughn's arms, but it was as if she had been able to gaze directly into his soul. Sydney knew how deeply affected she herself had been by the events of the last year, and here was the evidence that she certainly was not alone. To put it mildly, he was damaged—a product of deceit and betrayal. He had been broken almost beyond recognition, yet in the midst of his brokenness the same sweetness still existed. She knew from his "confession" earlier that there were parts of his soul that had been blackened irreparably. She also knew that his gentle spirit was responsible for the shame he felt about the past. If he had cared less, he would have felt less. That was the irony of the situation.

She watched him sleep, knowing now that it had been a while. The furrowed brow was gone, and he seemed to have been granted a measure of serenity. She hoped for his sake that he had. Thinking back to his confession to MacLaine, she knew that he did not need to tell her everything that he had. Somehow, Sydney had the distinct feeling that he was opening up to her in the only way he knew how. Even a few moments ago when they had discussed everything in veiled terms, he had kept his eyes closed. Was he just that tired? Or was it too difficult to face her when the topic was so painful? Listening to him speak about Lauren and about his hatred for her had been painful. Not because she blamed him, but because she now had a faint impression of how he had been affected. And nothing could possibly hurt more than watching his pain.

Vaughn had always been her protector. From the second she walked through the doors of the CIA, he had been the one to take care of her. Granted, it was his job. But not all of it was his job, and she knew it. He had listened to her problems and encouraged her to come to him. For as long as they had known each other, he had been the one who held it together. When her mother had returned, she allowed herself to become compromised. Even her father had allowed Irina to get to him, but not Vaughn. He had not thought for a moment that she was trustworthy, but he had also not allowed his own pain to blind him to her usefulness. He had kept his emotions in hand done something useful about them. Maybe it was time for a change. Vaughn would always be strong. That she knew would never change. But that did not mean that he would have to be alone. She had been waiting for him to allow her access to his soul again. He had done it tonight. And in spite of the things he had shared with her, he had also shared them with Dixon and Kiera MacLaine. Doubt slithered through her mind like an unwelcome aroma. What if it was just a byproduct of the mission. Maybe she was reading into the whole incident because she was so desperate to know him again. Vaughn barely stirred and drove her from her thoughts and back to the moment. She relaxed herself and tried to join in on the peaceful repose that had befallen him.

* * *

Vaughn and Weiss entered the Bristow/Santos home and went their separate ways. Weiss and Nadia were still flirting with their own ideas and the staid persistence of Sydney and Vaughn's attraction had a tendency to cramp their style. Vaughn followed Sydney into the kitchen where she was putting the remaining dishes onto the table.

"Need some help?" he asked.

"No thanks," she answered smiling as she approached him. She kissed him unaffectedly and smiled. "Just that." He smiled back at her grateful for that moment. It was these moments that made him fall in love with her.

"Yeah?" he asked happily. "You _needed _that? Like you actually needed it." She smiled her sweet reply, and was ready to kiss him again when Nadia and Weiss walked in as a unified ball of energy.

"We're going to pick up a bottle of wine for dinner," Nadia blurted, "Is there anything else you need?"

"Uh, no. That sounds great," Sydney replied. "Thanks."

"It's no problem. We won't be long," Nadia finished over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

"Not long enough, I'm sure," Vaughn interjected as he pulled Sydney into his arms.

"Long enough for what?" she smiled up at him.

"Certainly not long enough for anything good."

"Did you have something specific in mind?" she asked innocently. He grinned rakishly, refusing to answer her question. Her smile persisted, encouraging his advances.

"No, not really," he said as he released her and walked away to the other side of the kitchen island.

"Michael Vaughn, get back here," she insisted.

"No, I don't think so," he taunted.

"No?" she asked skeptically. "You don't want to?"

"Oh, I want to. But we don't have enough time for what I want."

"Can I tell you something? I guarantee it will make you even more frustrated with the current situation."

"Sounds irresistible," he answered somewhat doubtfully.

"On the way home from Montenegro," she began leaning across the island, "I asked you to come home with me." His smile faded into discomfort at the mention of Montenegro.

"No, you didn't."

"I did. You fell asleep."

"And you didn't think you should wake me up for that?" he asked now a little annoyed.

"I couldn't," she smiled widely, "You looked so sweet. I didn't have the heart."

"But you have the heart to tell me about it when there's nothing I can do about it?" he smiled again at her playfulness.

"It's not like it was a one-time offer," she soothed looking intently into his discriminating eyes.

"I see," he concluded, "Care to elaborate?"

"Not until you come back over here."

"It's a ploy," he accused, "You're using my biological weakness to get your way."

"Would that really be so bad?"

"Maybe not. Compromise. I'll meet you on the couch?"

"Are you propositioning me?" she laughed.

"Is that a problem?" he smiled.

"I'll see you in the living room," she answered trying to put on a serious face. She tripped lightly toward the living room with Vaughn following languidly behind her. She stood waiting for him and gestured for him to sit, then nestled herself into his side.

"God, Vaughn, you smell good!" she exclaimed leaving a kiss on his neck. He chuckled once and held her closer. She settled into the silence he seemed to want. It was not how she thought a meeting on the couch would go, but what really went as expected anymore.

"Syd," he began before faltering into silence again. "Syd, I don't exactly know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"I don't know..." his words failed again before recovering. "I don't know how to talk to you about... certain things."

"Which things?" She said gently, not wanting to scare him away from whatever was troubling him, although she suspected she knew.

"In Montenegro, at the pub I said some things that... I never meant for you to hear."

"You didn't?" she asked growing emotional.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," he bent his face down and touched it tenderly to her hair. "I know it had to be difficult for you to listen to. I never wanted that for you."

"Didn't want it for _me_?"

"I'm sorry I dragged you into it, and I just want you to know that it won't happen again. I promise you, I won't ever do that to you again."

"Vaughn?" she let her confusion show as she looked up into his pained expression that failed to meet her eyes, "I want you to." He looked doubtful so she continued. "Yes, it was painful, but I need to hear it."

"No, you don't. You don't need any more—"

"Vaughn, please." He fell silent and she could feel the tension in his body. She could see the muscles in his jaw clenching reactively. She turned her head down to his shoulder and began her explanation anew. "I need you to talk to me. Not just about Lauren. About everything. I don't want to be an outsider with you."

"Sydney, I can't," he wavered, "I can't put you through everything all over again. I think you've had enough pain for one lifetime."

"Life is full of pain. And it's meant to be shared. If not with the people who care about you, then who? Please, Vaughn." Her hand caressed his profile soothingly, willing him to relax. "I can't force you to talk about anything, and I won't."

"I know that."

"But I want you to. That night. I felt close to you for the first time in a long time," she explained, "And I realized how much I've actually missed." They sat for a moment, neither of them knowing where to go from here.

"It's so ugly, Syd. I don't want the time we spend together to be tainted with things like that."

"It can't be. Not as long as we're together." He chuckled in cynical unbelief.

"That's a nice idea, but I don't think it's very realistic."

"We don't have to talk about her. We don't have to talk about anything if you don't want to. But I'd like to know what's going on with you. I want to know what you're thinking about all day—what you're feeling. It's important to me," she explained. "You don't have to protect me from everything. I know it's kind of second nature for you, but I don't want to be protected _from_ _you_." Her words finally reached beyond his mind and into his soul as he realized what she was saying. His fingers tipped her chin up to look into her eyes for the first time since sitting down. She could see it in his eyes and in the smile that was beginning on his lips, but she was happy that he said it anyway.

"Thank you."

"I'm serious, you know. I don't just want the good parts," she admonished as she laid her head back down.

"That's a relief. There's not much of that left."

"That's not true, Vaughn."

"I haven't seen it lately. Except with you."

"Then just don't leave."

"Good idea." They reclined on the couch till Weiss and Nadia came crashing through the door in tears with laughter.

"Oh my God!" Weiss exclaimed looking at the couple. "You look absolutely geriatric over there. Don't worry. A little alcohol will take you back at least twenty years."

"I hope not," Sydney said, "That was not a good year for me. Very awkward. Huge glasses." Vaughn smiled at the picture, as they stood up to join the other couple at the table. Sydney stopped him with a hand on his arm just out of earshot of the jubilant duo. She kissed him deliberately and hugged him.

"Thank _you_, Vaughn." She led him to the table with a smile on her face as they sat down to forget about everything for a while. The glances they shared tonight were not just flirtatious. They were glances filled with understanding and appreciation for the bond they shared. It was no longer a question of if they could make it past the last year. It was just a matter of doing it. They would always have the pain with them, but it would be a shared pain. It would be something that pulled them closer together rather than keeping them from one another. It would be difficult and uncomfortable for both of them, but tonight they had agreed on something. It was worth it.


	9. Cold and Boring

AN: I am not in love with this chapter. However, I liked it just enough not to throw it out. I may revise it later on.

* * *

"Cold and Boring"

The sidewalk cafe was crowded but only just. In spite of it's full capacity, it seemed to retain a sense of calm as the pre-dusk hours settled themselves in expectation of evening. "So I can't believe of everywhere we've been that we have never had dinner in Paris," Sydney stated in amazement.

"It is pretty amazing," Vaughn agreed allowing his smile to announce his high spirits.

"That we're here? Or that this is the first time?"

"Mmm, both."

"You know my favorite thing about France?"

"The company?"

"Okay second favorite. They have really, really great wine," she said lifting her glass to take another sip. He laughed at her nearly tipsy state.

"That's your favorite thing?"

"Yeah, it's so much better when it doesn't come from a liquor store. And look. Look at this Vaughn." She held the cork out to him for his perusal. "It's not that plastic looking thing that's in there sometimes. It really looks like it came from a cork tree."

"You know, you can buy wine with real corks in Los Angeles," he informed smiling.

"But why should I? Why should I when I can come here?"

"You shouldn't."

"I know. I like it here. Maybe I'll live here someday," she mused carelessly as she watched passersby strolling leisurely with seemingly nowhere else to be.

"Yeah? What happened to that island you wanted?"

"I still want it. But I'll have to come here for the wine."

"Well, you'll have to bring some back for me because I will refuse to leave the island."

"So you're coming?"

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"That's a relief. My coldness wasn't too much of a turn-off?" she asked alluding to an assessment by the apparent curator of Liberty Village.

"Only if I'm boring you to death," he answered recalling their dinner with Weiss and Nadia.

"Not boring. The cited offense was a lack of spontaneity. Either way, they're wrong you know."

"Absolutely," he agreed a little dubiously.

"We are totally hot and exciting. Look at us. We're having dinner in Paris."

"We are."

"And it's amazing."

"And original too," he stated sarcastically with an upraised brow.

"Good point," she conceded. "So what else is there to do in Paris?" He smiled at her enthusiasm.

"You mean you don't want to be cold and boring? You said you liked us."

"I do like us. And one of the things that I like is that we cannot be labeled. We're multi-faceted, well-rounded people capable of having a variety of experiences whether planned or unplanned. Now," she finished her defense, "What the hell is there to do in Paris?"

* * *

An hour later, after a satisfying meal and another glass and a half of wine, they strolled aimlessly down the streets of Paris.

"Okay, so there's the obvious stuff, of course," he offered.

"Eiffel Tower, Arch de Triumph, I know. What else?" She answered in rejection.

"The Louvre."

"A museum? I thought we were trying to move away from cold and boring?"

"Hey a museum can be a very stimulating experience," he defended.

"Oh my God, you _are_ boring."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied, "I like 'em too."

"I know." They strolled along looking for something to strike them as bold, daring, or unique, but nothing seemed to present itself so they continued happily on getting further and further away from their waiting plane and further into Montmartre.

"It's gonna be 7 AM by the time we get back," he began glancing at his watch, "I'm thinking half-day tomorrow."

"Half-day?" she asked incredulously. "You are such an over-achiever."

"Agent Bristow," he addressed her in mock scorn, "Your lack of dedication is unacceptable."

"No, Agent Vaughn," she challenged in return, "What is unacceptable is the fact that we are in Paris, and you are talking about work."

"That's unacceptable? Even though I'm suggesting that we neglect it?"

"Yes. Remember, we're not supposed to plan those things. We're supposed to just do them. That's what Eric said."

"Screw Eric. If we don't plan it, things will be left undone and we'll end up getting dragged back in. I don't care anymore. I like our way. Don't you?" She smiled at his mildly annoyed tirade.

"Yeah, I do."

"So, if we're happy with it, why does it matter what he thinks?"

"Okay, okay. So when are you taking off?"

"Probably around one. Come with me to the rink?"

"Yeah?" she asked with a smile that consumed her. "I'd love to. If I can remember how."

"It's okay. I'll take care of you."

_You always do_, she thought to herself but only nestled closer under his arm and continued to walk. They walked a block more in silence until he stopped her. She looked up to see him grinning with a look in his eye that claimed evil as it's next of kin. She questioned him with her eyes and a tilt of her chin.

"Do you really want to do something unexpected?"

"Like what?" she asked a sudden hesitancy gripping her boldness at the intensity of his eyes.

"I mean something that will shut Weiss up for good."

"Vaughn, what?"

"Turn around," he ordered. She slowly complied and his hand reached over her shoulder to signify the round, red sign above the entryway. Two gold statues sat on either side of the door, and she turned to look at his vast smile.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

"Why? It's definitely something I've never done before. Have you?" he said enticingly.

"No, but, Vaughn. Seriously? _Musée de l'Erotisme_?"*

"It's perfect. Not only is it a museum, but I think Weiss would approve."

"Ya think?" She debated for a moment. "Fine. Let's do it."

* * *

Sydney and Vaughn tumbled out of the museum hours later with laughter pouring forth.

"I think my absolute favorite was the masturbating pig," she giggled.

"I don't know. The contortionists were pretty amazing," he offered.

"Amazing? No way. I could do half that stuff."

"I look forward to it."

"I bet you do," she laughed. "Did you see a post office on the way here?"

"Airport now. I'll drop it in his box when we get back."

"Good idea," she held the postcard up for him to see, "What do you say we try this out on the flight back?"

"I'm definitely not going to say no."

* * *

Eric Weiss had stopped by the mailbox on his way into the office, and carelessly tossed the contents onto the seat next to him. Entering the office he scooped it up just as carelessly in a haphazard pile and upon arrival set it on his desk. He really needed to start checking the box more frequently. One item caught his attention and he pulled it from the pile. He stared confusedly for a moment. Two Swiss Army Knives graced the front of the postcard with all of the blades and accessories unfolded. He turned the postcard over, and was confused to find it was written in French and unsigned. His name and address were the only things written in English. He looked around the office expecting to be able to use Vaughn or Sydney for translation, but they were no where to be found. He turned the card back over staring again at the depiction, but was unable to grasp it's significance.

"Agent Weiss, you're needed in the briefing room," Jack interrupted his decryption, "Since Vaughn and Sydney are absent, I will have the unprecedented privilege of running scenarios with you for tomorrow's operation."

"They're not in today?"

"They arrived early this morning. Took the afternoon off," Weiss looked down at the postcard again, a little disappointed. "Is there are problem, Agent Weiss?"

"No," Weiss answered snapping back to the moment. "Just don't _parlez-vous_ French very well."

"May I?" Jack offered extending his hand for the postcard. Weiss handed it over and Jack flipped it over to the text. He read briefly as his posture grew more erect. Flipping the card over, he glanced quickly at the picture before handing it back to Weiss and turning away.

"Hey!" Weiss called out. "What's it say?" Jack turned back to him and managed a reply.

"Briefing room in ten minutes." Weiss turned his attention back to the picture and noticed symbols on the side of the knives. Apparently one male and one female symbol. Taking an even closer look at the arrangement of the knife blades and attachments with this knowledge, it suddenly occurred to him that the female knife was actually kneeling in front of the male knife in the midst of a very intimate activity. His mouth opened briefly in shock before he burst into an amused chuckle. Now he just had to figure out where the hell the thing had come from. Sitting down to his desk he opened up the translation program. The text appeared in the screen in English:

"Weiss, just wanted you to know that you missed out on Paris. Planned? No. Incredible? Absolutely. In case you are wondering, the picture may or may not be a representation of the least spontaneous people you know. Hope you had a good time bowling without us."

That settled the question of where it had come from. Now Weiss was looking forward to telling Vaughn that Jack had seen it. But maybe that would serve him better another day.

* * *

*Museum of Eroticism

AN: Should you wish to see the postcard that made me laugh so much I had to write about it, you can find it on the museum's website under "postcards" as of 12/2/10.


	10. Icy Times

"Icy Times"

Sydney sat patiently on the bottom bench of the bleachers inside the ice rink. The overhead fans were providing excessive white noise, and already she could no longer feel the end of her nose. Vaughn looked up and smiled from his location at her feet. He knelt in front of her lacing her skates. He had insisted, saying that she never got them tight enough on her own.

"Okay, so remember, you skate on the insides of your blades, bend your knees, and whatever you do, don't pick your feet up off the ice until you can stand up."

"What would I do without you?" she asked a little sarcastically.

"You probably wouldn't be here about to fall on your face," he smiled.

"I know. How boring would that be?" she smiled in return.

"Extremely. And since we're not boring, you have to be here."

"Right. Although this might make us cold."

"I'll make sure you stay warm," he stated unsympathetically.

"You comin' onto me?" she provoked.

"Always. But no."

"That's a little contradictory. Enigmatic even."

"I'm a mysterious individual."

"Sexy," she accused seriously. He smiled shyly as he settled her pant leg over her skate, and crossed his arms on her knees to look up at her. She smiled sweetly and brushed some unruly pieces of hair from his forehead. With him here kneeling in front of her, she could not help but remember his proposal story at the Liberty Village car dealership.

She knew that what he had spoken had been about her as well as to her. Either one of them could have created a fictional proposal about a fictional couple, but he had instead chosen to make it personal. Some women might have been annoyed by the fact that he always seemed to take the long way around when talking about his feelings. But to Sydney it only endeared him to her more. She understood that he was speaking exclusively for her benefit, and it gave the whole thing a very intimate quality. Michael Vaughn's secrets were shared almost exclusively in subtext. She knew that the things he had said were for her, but she still doubted. She did not doubt his intentions, but she did doubt his commitment.

She remembered easily how she had felt when she had woken up one morning to find that her life as she knew it was gone. She remembered the sight of Vaughn standing in Dixon's office with Lauren, seeing the evidence before her. The pain was real. But even more real was the sense of betrayal. She had put all her trust in him. He had never given her a reason not to. Until that time, he had never given her cause to doubt him. He had been her constant. Now he was a constant reminder that no one was safe. The fact that she loved him was not a point of debate, but that did not mean she had to trust him to feel the same way about her. She could not give him power over her. Not yet.

"Thanks," she said softly.

"Ready?" he asked in subdued excitement.

"I think so." He stood next to her as she rose to her feet and remembered how to walk without bending her feet. "This is insane. Who does this on purpose?"

"Come on. You like it."

"Not this part."

"You'll be fine. I would say it's like riding a bike, but it's not really like that at all."

"Okay, let's get this over with," she determined.

He preceded her onto the ice and watched as she held onto the glass like a life preserver, cautiously putting one foot onto the ice and then another turning her back to Vaughn. He skated back to give her room. She straightened up and slowly let go of her hold on the wall.

"Bend your knees," he coached.

"No way, I'll fall over."

"Yeah, you will, if you don't bend your knees."

"You bend your knees," she challenged.

"I am."

"Fine," she slightly bent her knees and was surprised by the amount of control it gave her. "Gets me every time."

"You want some help?" he asked holding out a hand to her.

"No," she smiled up at him. "I'll be okay. And if I'm not, I'm sure I've had worse."

"I'm sure you have, but that won't make it feel any better."

"Nice to know you believe in me." After a few minutes with her arms held wide and reacquainting herself with the feel of gliding rather than walking, she acquired a measure of confidence and spoke again to Vaughn who had occupied himself with footwork drills along the blue line.

"Vaughn?" she called out still requiring her arms to correct faulty balance from time to time.

"Yeah?" he said, circling quickly around in front of her causing her to wobble slightly.

"God, Vaughn! Do you have to do that?"

"I promise I'm not going to run into you," he smiled. "What do you need?"

"My hands are cold. Can we do something about that?" he laughed as he fished in her pockets for her gloves.

"I thought you wanted to do it yourself?"

"I do. You're not helping me skate. You're helping me dress," she justified as she shoved first one hand into a warm glove and then a second.

"You good?"

"Uh-huh," she smiled. "Thanks." He kissed her cheek smiling back at her.

"Let me know if you miss me," he said skating away from her. He meant, "Let me know if you need me," but he knew she would refuse to respond to that offer. That thought made him smile more broadly as he watched her from across the rink. He remembered the first and only time he had brought Lauren to the rink. She had clung to him like a helpless child. Doubtless, it was part of an act to make him feel bonded to her, to make him feel like he was her protector. The only flaw in that approach was that it had annoyed him, and he had never offered to bring her with him again. He had grown too accustomed to Sydney's independence. And though in serious situations it often irritated him, in this situation it was appropriate. He appreciated the fact that she did not want him to make every little thing easier for her. But there was a silent acknowledgement between Sydney and Vaughn that they would do the impossible for each other if it was necessary. He looked on as she began circling the rink, gaining more speed, and laughed out loud when she ran hard into the boards.

"Shut up!" she called out good-naturedly as she repositioned herself and started again. He continued his drills and watched her progress as she worked her way back to her previous skill level. Not surprisingly it was a swift process. His phone rang out in the silent rink and he cursed under his breath as she looked over with a disgusted look on her face.

"Hey Weiss. What's up?" he asked expecting to be called back into work. Sydney skated over to him a little too quickly and grabbed onto his arm to slow down, nearly falling when met with the solid stance he took, but he pulled her to upright while responding to Weiss.

"Yes, actually it did. And yes, it was." She unguardedly slipped her arms around his torso, and held on a little tighter when her skate collided with his to complicate matters.

"Really?" he asked smiling. "And how did that go over?" Sydney was looking up curiously, and was satisfied by his tone of voice that they would not be returning to the office.

"I'll find out. And thanks. You're a real friend." He put his phone away and returned her embrace.

"That was Weiss," he began as he moved backwards pulling her with him. "He got his postcard."

"Yeah? Did he love it?" she asked mischievously.

"He did. Apparently, so did your father," he informed.

"My father?"

"Mm-hmm. Weiss asked him to translate."

"Who doesn't speak French?" she asked in shock.

"Well, a lot of people. Just not a lot of people in our office."

"So my dad, huh?"

"Yep. So, if you don't see me again, it was fun."

"He's not going to do anything to you. And the last time you said that, you might remember that it was my dad who saved your sorry ass from being suspended."

"My sorry ass?" he asked feigning offense as he pulled away from her grasp to skate next to her.

"Well, it's cute, but you know what I mean."

"Just don't invite him over for dinner for a couple weeks. Could be awkward."

"I thought you guys got along now?"

"Better than before, but that doesn't really mean much."

"It can't be any worse than how he was with Danny. At least he likes you."

"Likes me? That's what you call it?" he asked not believing her description.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe he's just resigned to the fact that you're not going away."

"Like malaria. That's a wonderful thought," she laughed at his bleak forecast of the situation. "Weiss also wanted to know if I would be staying at his place tonight." Her laugh subsided and her face grew serious.

"I don't think I..." she began and then lightened her tone, "I don't think it will hurt his social life too much to have you there a little longer." The sound of their blades cutting into the ice on the turn filled the momentary silence.

"Maybe not. But it's killing mine," he pouted.

"It's just not going to happen all at once," she explained. "It can't."

"Why not?" he asked impatiently. "Look, I'm trying to understand, Syd, but waiting can't fix everything, you know? Some things we're going to have to fix ourselves." She looked over at him briefly and promptly fastened her eyes back on the ice in front of her.

"What things?"

"I wish I knew," he answered a little more loudly than he wanted to. She slowed her pace allowing him to pull away from her slightly before he noticed her lagging. She waited for him to turn and face her before she spoke.

"Are you mad?" He softened at her concern and approached to kiss her gently once and then again.

"No," he answered.

"No?" she asked still concerned.

"No, I swear. Just impatient," he kissed her forehead reassuringly. "I just miss being with you all the time."

"We _are_ getting better," she looked up and smiled. "And you're with me now."

"Yeah," he answered with a smile. "You ready to play?"

"I don't think I'll ever be ready. Let's do it," she determined. He retreated to retrieve the necessary equipment and found her circling the net in concentration.

"You tryin' to psych out the net?" he asked.

"Don't need to. I'm gonna kick it's ass," she stated with a confident smile. "Come here, Vaughn." He approached her, and placed a hand on either side of her along the crossbar. Languidly and extensively, she kissed him. She allowed herself to enjoy him, and hoped that the closeness would soothe any remaining irritation. "I never thanked you for dinner last night."

"No, you didn't," he confirmed.

"Thank you," she said. "And thanks for the shower," she smiled. "Best shower I've had in years."

"Yeah?" he mirrored her smile.

"Definitely. I think we should plan another one soon. You up for it?" He laughed at her ridiculous proposition wondering if her crudeness was intentional. The multiple sides of her personality often made it difficult to discern.

"I think so. How soon is 'soon'?" he asked.

"_Very _soon."

"I like it. I think 'very soon' is tonight."

"Or tomorrow."

"I can live with that." He kissed her again unreservedly, apologizing for his tantrum. He had no problem with waiting until she was ready, but knowing why she was not ready was becoming a concern to him. He loved her, in truth, more fervently since her return than he had in the beginning. The forced separation had been difficult, but it had shown him how much she was worth to him. And while he knew he could not force her to move more quickly than she wanted to, he needed to know that they were striving for the same goal. His concern was that she did not see a real future for them, that perhaps she was just curious to see how they would fit together again. The worry that assaulted his mind was that she would not be satisfied with the results of the trial run. He needed to compel her to talk about what she was feeling. That should be easy.


	11. In the Still of the Night

"In the Still of the Night"

"You don't have to stay with me, Vaughn," Sydney dismissed as she let them into her home. "I'm sure Nadia can make sure I don't lose it again."

"You're not going to lose it," he stated more confidently than he felt. "But the doctor said he wanted someone with you for the first 24 hours. Besides, it's not like it's a chore." He dropped his bag to the side in the entryway and followed her into the bedroom.

"No? What if I try to kill you again?" she asked refusing to look at him.

"Syd," he began to argue. She captured him in a stare that communicated that they both knew he could not ease her mind. Dejectedly she moved around the room gathering her things and then excused herself.

"I'm gonna grab a shower," she informed.

Being all too familiar with the effects of a guilty conscience, Vaughn knew the turmoil currently haunting Sydney about what had happened between them. She had stood only feet away from him, trained the gun at his face and pulled the trigger. The thing that struck him most about the situation was that he was not afraid—not for himself anyway. The possibility of imminent death was something he confronted at least monthly. But seeing Sydney so affected that she would willingly hurt people she cared about was something he had never seen. It was so contrary to her nature. He had never experienced the kind of fear he had when he first found out that she had been infected. Like his own, he was constantly faced with the possibility of her death. The unique mark of this incident was that if she did die from this drug, his last hours with her would not really be with _her_. There was no question that the hallucinations were severe. There was no question that she was not herself. If there was no antidote, his last moments with Sydney would not be spent with the woman he loved. They would be spent with a stranger.

Vaughn had been so understanding about everything. Sydney wondered if he knew that there was a measure of truth in the words that she had said to him. She wondered what he had actually said to her in that alley. All she remembered were the horrible things she had heard him say—the things that had hurt her so much that she had to hurt him. The thing that scared her more than anything was the power that even hallucinations of his hurtful words had over her. How much more could the real thing destroy her? One thing she knew about the incident was that the fear was real. She knew that she depended on him far more than he depended on her. That made her the most vulnerable. She had the most to lose. She knew that he was impatient to move things forward in their relationship, but that impatience made her doubt the sincerity of some of his declarations. Even now, standing in the shower, she recalled their most recent shower together and wondered in the face of her rational objections if he had fabricated everything to give her some sense of false security. She allowed the water to course over her washing away the remnants of the week's events.

Hair dripping and skin flushed, she entered the bedroom already in her pajamas. She was surprised to find Vaughn changed into casual attire and reclined against the center of the headboard channel surfing and looking very much like he did not intend to move for a very long time. She smiled audaciously in the face of her fears at the way he managed to look so comfortable in her environment.

"Did you wanna go out tonight?" she asked toweling the excess water from her hair. He smiled and finally his attention was focused.

"No. You should rest," he answered.

"You know I hate that," she objected.

"I know, but it's true."

"I hate it more when you're right," she approached the bed and tossed the wet towel onto him and she sat up straight next to his slouching form.

"Thanks for this," he said sarcastically. The towel flew across the room into the desk chair but not before he had covertly stolen a sniff of a fresh, wet Sydney.

"You're welcome," she mocked. "What are we watching?"

"What do you wanna watch?"

"Nothing serious. Not today."

"Let's see what we've got." He flipped through several channels and she stopped him excitedly on a reality dating show. "Are you serious?" he wanted to know as he smiled at her incredulously.

"Yes, it's so funny, I can't even tell you." They watched together, mocking the fact that the participants could take themselves so seriously, and together they found comfort in the fact that it seemed to make their own relationship appear to possess a bit of normalcy. Her erect posture had given way to a more comfortable one draped partially over his torso.

"How are you feeling?" he asked in the middle of the ceremonial rose dispensation. He managed to temper his tone to a concerned one rather than a worried one.

"I'm good," she answered, "just tired I think."

"Wanna sleep? I can leave you alone. Go get some work done."

"No. No, I'm okay." He laughed at her strained words.

"You're lying to me right now."

"Don't leave," she demanded snuggling her face closer to his chest. He stroked her hair slowly with one hand and rubbed her back soothingly with the other.

"Don't worry," he comforted.

"Hm?" she asked sleepily.

"I said don't worry."

"Guess I am tired."

"Why don't you get into bed, Syd? Come on," he said trying to urge her to sit up a bit. She stirred herself enough for him to pull the blankets down and crawl beneath them. She settled underneath them while he looked down on her from above.

"You too," she told him. He smiled consentingly, and brushed her bangs from her eyes with an affectionate finger. Moving from the bed he removed his jeans and sent them to keep company for the evening with her towel. He situated himself on his side next to her with a fist propped under his face.

"How are you feeling really?" he asked again.

"Tolerable," she answered opening her eyes and meeting his searching stare. "Much better than before. Better than last night."

"You didn't have me with you last night," he smiled.

"No. That sucked. There is something that always makes me feel better."

"What?" he asked. She did not answer but instead pulled his free arm across her and turned slightly away from him. He smiled more broadly and pulled her tightly against him. He tried to blow away strands of her hair that tickled his face but was forced to pull them back with his chin when his first attempt was unsuccessful.

"Ah! Vaughn! Shave much?" she asked when his stubble irritated her neck.

"I thought you liked it."

"I do. It's really hot. But a little itchy."

"Sorry," he answered with a tender kiss to her neck. "I'll get rid of it tomorrow."

"No, I like it." He laughed at the predicament she found herself in.

"Let me know if you change your mind." He kissed her softly again and once more, "Syd? You can talk to me too, you know," he echoed her assurances to him from not so long ago.

"I know," she answered pulling him closer. "Just not tonight."

Serene sleep embraced them for hours. It was the first peace he had experienced since her ordeal, and he was in no hurry to leave her. He dreaded going back to Weiss's. He belonged here with her, taking care of her, watching over her. For years he had believed that no one person was required for another person's happiness. There was no such thing as a perfect match between two people. And even though he still believed that, he also believed that he would never find a person he wanted more than Sydney Bristow. Defining his "type" had always been an elusive task before he had met her. Even now, he could not define it except to say that it was Sydney. She was the fulfillment of qualities he did not know he wanted in a woman until he saw them in her. They certainly did not always agree on everything, and that was just one thing she had shown him that he wanted. She challenged him constantly, and he loved it. Everything she was, was everything he wanted, and nothing more or less.

Sydney straining against his grasp trying to free herself like a frightened child abruptly awakened him. He sat up slightly and saw pained expressions covering her features. "No. No, let go!" he heard her cry out, and he freed her. She replaced his arm by turning to her stomach and clinging ardently to her pillow. He offered comforting words and a soothing hand on her shoulder, but it could not ease her evident turmoil. It was not until ten minutes later when she turned to face him that she began to calm herself. His mind was eased when he noticed her slipping back into slumber. He allowed her a few minutes rest before it occurred to him that if she was hallucinating instead of dreaming that the fever might be returning. Softly he placed a hand on her face. She was definitely warm, but it could just be because of the exertion of the nightmare.

"Syd?" he whispered to her. "Sydney?" he said more loudly with a gentle shake. She stirred sleepily.

"Vaughn? What's wrong?" she answered through the groggy haze.

"I think you might be getting a fever," he said rising from the bed to retrieve the thermometer.

"I feel fine," she said objecting to his fussing.

"You didn't ten minutes ago," he responded.

"What are you talking about?"

"You were dreaming."

"What did I say?"

"Nothing, it just," he reclined next to her and placed the thermometer in her mouth, "Just didn't look like you were having a good time." She closed her eyes and waited, hoping that the antidote had been effective. The beep rang out quickly and he removed the thermometer. She did not need him to read it. She could read the relief on his face. "99.3. Not high enough to worry about." He capped the thermometer and returned it to the night stand. "Sorry I woke you. Try to get back to sleep, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks," she answered. She turned her back to him as she had earlier that night and settled against her pillow. He watched from where he was leaning and sadly sank down onto his back next to her. Longing filled him as he looked on, and then closed his eyes. She lay tensely waiting for his arms, but they did not come. She would not ask, but she doubted that she would be able to rest. She had slept very little last night when she was alone at the clinic. But she was not alone now. She willed herself to relax, but she could not settle her mind. Turning to her other side, she found Vaughn expressionlessly staring at the ceiling. He looked over at her and gave a smile that could not quite reach his eyes.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"You're not sleeping," he observed.

"No. Restless, I guess."

"You wanna talk about your dream?" he offered.

"Can't remember it."

"Probably for the best."

"Vaughn?" she asked waiting for him to look at her, "What's wrong?" He was silent but only briefly.

"Nothing's wrong," he looked away.

"I know you're lying. Why are you lying?"

"You need to rest, Sydney. You don't need to be up worrying about me."

"I'm not going to rest when I know you're lying to me," she explained. Her hand moved to rest on his chest, and he instinctively covered it with his own. In realization a moment later he released her hand and looked again into her concerned stare.

"What did I say to you?" he asked.

"When?"

"When you were sick. You said that you were hallucinating your father saying things to you that he didn't really say." This time it was she who looked away. "What did you hear me say to you?"

"It doesn't matter," she answered unsteadily, "It wasn't real."

"No," he answered a little forcefully. "It wasn't real. But it was real to you at the time. And whatever was happening in your dream was real enough to make you terrified of me."

"What are you talking about? How do you even know you were in the dream?"

"Doesn't matter. I was with you here, and you were none too happy about that."

"What did I do?"

"You just," he stopped his thought and once again grew fascinated by the ceiling. "You didn't want me anywhere near you." This grabbed her attention, and she looked to his face for any other meaning but did not find it. She removed her hand from where it had rested all along on his chest. Moving to her back she lay motionless for a few minutes. The silence that stretched on was consumed by what he had said. He lay in wait praying that there was another explanation for what had happened other than the obvious—that she actually didn't want him. She lay in confusion trying desperately to find a way to explain everything that she had experienced. Looking to him again, she saw in the darkness the hard set of his jaw, his furrowed brow, and the involuntary swallowing. He was the one who was terrified now. He exhaled audibly and turned his head to meet her assessing stare.

"I'm scared, Vaughn," she uttered simply. "You were right. I am afraid," she lost control of one of the tears she had restrained and she stopped speaking to regain her fortress. "I'm afraid to lose you again."

"Syd, that's ridiculous. I'm not going anywhere," he countered firmly.

"We don't really live in a world where that good intention is enough, and I know what it did to me the last time I lost you. Or rather, I don't know what it did, and that's pretty huge."

"What are you talking about?"

"When Kendall told me what happened during those two years—Vaughn, I knew about you and Lauren. I saw you with her nine months after my disappearance."

"Syd, what are you saying?"

"I had my memory specifically erased so that the Covenant wouldn't be able to use me to access the Rambaldi Cube. I had my memory _specifically_ erased, Vaughn. I didn't know about the cube for the whole two years. Which leads me to believe I intentionally gave up more of my memory than was necessary."

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked quietly.

"You would have been in danger too if I had come back. At least that's what Kendall says."

"Please!" he snapped. "You know that doesn't matter to me." She shrank at his sudden outburst. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I know you don't remember." She let go of the tears that had barricaded themselves behind her fluttering lashes. "I wish you had come back to me, Sydney." She turned to her side to face him again and used her pillow to mop up the moisture that had fallen on her face. "I can understand that you're afraid," he began again, "and I can understand why. Nothing really went how we wanted it to the first time around. But you say you're afraid to lose me. You wanna know what I'm afraid of?" He looked at her demanding her full attention. "I'm not afraid of losing you. I'm afraid you'll never let me have enough of you _to_ lose. You wanna know why that scares me, Syd? 'Cause you have all of me, and there is nothing—absolutely nothing I can do about it." The intensity of his stare told her that he was telling the truth. Michael Vaughn never made declarations easily. It took every drop of concentration he had, and she could see it all right now.

"What if there was?" she asked after a moment. "What if there was something you could do about it?"

"I wouldn't do it," he answered without hesitation. "I've always been happiest when I can love you."

"And are you happy now?" she asked tentatively.

"Mostly," he answered grinning slightly, "When you're not crying, that is. Makes me feel terrible." She chuckled briefly and swiped at her eyes then moved closer to him sliding down to rest her forehead against his shoulder.

"I'm not crying now," she offered. He found her hand with his under the blanket and took it greedily.

"I love you, Sydney." Her hand tightened against his and she smiled freely with her face still hidden against his shoulder.

"Yeah? Again?" she asked happily.

"No. Not again. Still." His correction caused her to smile even more. She sat up to look at him freeing her hand from his and found that he was smiling as well. She placed her hand on the side of his face.

"It's very sweet that you love me still. But I meant, say it again." He laughed and willingly obliged her.

"I love you, Syd."

"You meant 'still' like from three years ago 'still'?" she asked going back to his previous statement as loving fingers toyed with his face and hair.

"Yeah. Still."

"Me too," she said giving her smile a large dose of seriousness.

"You too what?" he asked refusing to let her off easy.

"I still love you," she said honestly.

"Tell me again," he demanded rather than asked—an action that would have spared them some confusion had she chosen it earlier.

"I love you, Michael Vaughn." He was a perfect mirror of her smile now. His arm sneaked underneath her torso and pulled her to rest on him.

"I get a 'Michael' too?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," she answered, "You pay attention better that way."

"It's not likely I would have missed that regardless of what you called me. Unless you called me 'Will.' That would have made it a little less amazing."

"Are you seriously jealous of him?"

"Maybe a little." She laughed out loud at this confession, and then settled down with a sigh. He could tell she was relaxing back into sleep. "This is the part where you tell me that I have nothing to be jealous of."

"Why do you need me to say it if you already know how it goes?"

"Humor me?"

"Will's not the one in my bed. Therefore, you have nothing to be jealous of."

"Syd?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you still afraid?"

"I don't think so. Maybe a little."

"Good. It's progress," he justified. It was not the resounding "no" that he had hoped for, but it was something.

"You?"

"I think I'm good," he answered. "I know I feel good."

"Hmmm," she sighed, "Yes you do," she finished running her hand down his torso. He chuckled lightly and brought her roving fingers to his lips briefly.

"Goodnight, Syd."

"Goodnight."

In fact she was having trouble remembering a better night. Granted memory was not her strong point, but that did not explain why he could not recall one either. However, both of them hoped for many more to eclipse this one. Whether or not they would get them now appeared to be entirely of their own choosing. This night had been born out of necessity. It had been the child of heartbreak and pain, but now bore the marks of happiness. And in the stillness, they both heard it. It was silence—the silence of the voices that had haunted them both. There was no delusion from either one that the silence would be everlasting, but that was certainly no reason not to enjoy it for the moment.

* * *

AN: This is the chapter I have wanted to write since the beginning of the story! :)


	12. Playing by the Rules

**AN: **Cheesy as it may be, the people in charge of these characters actually gave Michael Vaughn the birthday of 14th of February 1970 (a.k.a. Valentine's Day). So this is what I've got to work with.

* * *

"Playing by the Rules"

"So, don't be mad," Syd warned. The plane provided plenty of white noise making any conversation between them private. Vaughn looked up warily from his book to Sydney who did her best to put on a sweet face.

"Do I have a reason to be?"

"Maybe. Our date tomorrow? Ya know, your Birthday/Valentine's Day dinner?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I sort of told Nadia, that it would be okay if she and Weiss tagged along." His eyebrow arched questioningly causing her to anxiously continue her explanation. "She was nervous because they're not quite together, but they're not quite separate. And she thought if they were with someone else it would be less awkward. Are you mad?" He smiled mischievously at her.

"No."

"You're not?"

"No. Weiss asked me the same thing. I told him he could come to dinner as long as he got lost afterward and didn't bring Nadia home till morning."

"Till morning? What are they going to do all night?"

"That's not important. What is important is what we will be doing all night." His smile was contagious.

"You wish."

"Yeah, I do. And it's my birthday. Don't I get one wish?" he teased.

"I think you're right. That is the rule."

"I _love_ the rules."

"I love this one."

"Rules can be very, very fun."

"You're a genius," she replied with a kiss.

"Thank you. You are almost a genius for recognizing that."

"So you're not mad?"

"Hell no."

"What _are_ they going to do all night?" she wondered again.

"What do people do at night when they're not sleeping together?"

"I don't know. Wish they were?"

"I'm sure he'll figure something out."

* * *

Emerging together from Sydney's bedroom, the two women showed off their ensembles. They were both self-assured—not needing to draw attention to themselves but realistic enough to know when they were getting it. And getting it, they were. The two men standing in the living room instantly took notice. Vaughn's silent, hungry stare was fixed on Sydney until his perusal was interrupted by Weiss's exuberance.

"Look at you two!" Weiss said letting out a whistle.

"Stop whistling at my girlfriend," Vaughn warned in a mumbled aside.

"Trust me, I'm not," Weiss responded equally covertly.

"You should be. Look at her."

"Not gonna do it. You'll whip my ass."

"Damn straight."

"What's going on over there?" asked Sydney. "We totally missed all the nice things you were saying about us."

"Weiss was just saying it was about time you got out here. He's really hungry," Vaughn offered.

"And then Mike here said that I should go easier on you since it took him nearly as long to get ready."

"Oh, it is on," Vaughn warned toward Weiss as he stepped over to Sydney. Kissing her cheek softly he whispered, "You look really beautiful, Syd." A blush rose easily to her face, and she lowered her lashes.

"Thank you," she replied. A dusty pink covered her down to her knees in lace-covered satin, held up by two narrow straps at each shoulder. A slightly lighter satin ribbon rested just below the bust-line. A matching ribbon served as a headband contrasting with the dark brown silk of her hair. There was a soft, delicate feeling to the whole ensemble that gave her an appealingly vulnerable allure.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Weiss, you're driving. I think I'm gonna be a little distracted," Vaughn informed brazenly.

"Ya don't say?"

"If you smudge my make-up, I will kill you," Sydney informed.

"It's okay. I know what the _rules _are." The mischievous look he sent her was not missed, and she sent him one of her own as they filed out the door to the car.

* * *

Sitting in a dimly lit restaurant, the foursome was surrounded by couples sitting closer than seemed comfortable. Candles on tables in little corner booths were a testament to the holiday. Some were enjoying the holiday. Some were waiting for it to be over. Some were just worried that it would be the last one shared with the person next to them. Every couple was in the midst of something different. The foursome was in the midst of a conversation about Eric Weiss.

"I can't believe he hasn't told you he plays guitar," Vaughn told Nadia.

"No, he hasn't," she turned her attention to Weiss whose eyes were occupied with shooting daggers at his former best friend. Sydney was giggling at her side of the table, aware that the impending embarrassing story would only make Nadia like him more. Vaughn of course knew it too, but Weiss, who was not an impartial observer in this instance, could not see it.

"I can't believe you're bringing this up?" Weiss said.

"Hey," Vaughn continued jovially, "I told you it was on." As he continued his story Weiss was surprised that Nadia's hand came to rest on his arm. Suddenly the ploy became obvious to him as well, and he took over the telling adding more enthusiasm than Vaughn had. Sydney watched the couple across the table bonding, and instinctively turned her eyes to her own partner with a smile. Vaughn gave her a knowing wink and a grin in return as he leaned back in his chair feeling quite satisfied with himself.

Sydney's brown tresses bounced as she shook her head at him and returned her attention to the pasta in front of her. She knew that Vaughn still had reservations about Weiss and Nadia getting involved, but he was refusing to neglect his duties as wingman. Whether it worked out for the new pair, Vaughn could never be accused of not being a loyal friend. She wondered if the long-time friendship between the two men had ever worked in Vaughn's favor in a similar way. Somehow she had a difficult time seeing Weiss pull off something as skillful as Vaughn just had. However, as the benefactor of Vaughn's not having found anyone else—that was not a terrorist—she chose to be grateful for Weiss's probable lack of cunning in the area of seduction.

"What's a Gremlin?" Nadia asked in confusion.

"It's a car," Weiss informed, "It's like a totally awesome muscle car. They were really popular in the 80's."

"Muscle car?" Vaughn questioned, "A Gremlin? Your Gremlin?"

"Shut up, dude," Weiss warned.

"I've seen that car."

"Anyway, the point is, it worked," Weiss finished.

"I believe it," Nadia laughed clearly.

"You do?" Weiss asked. "Does that mean it would work on you?"

"Perhaps," she admitted. "But a girl would never give up that information so easily."

"No, of course not. That would just be too easy."

"And easy, I'm not."

"No kidding. Tell me something I don't know."

"Now Eric, let's just be honest about this thing," Sydney interjected, "easy isn't your type anyway."

"Isn't that the truth," he agreed with a touch of sarcasm.

The foursome continued on in much the same manner all evening, the new pair flirting recklessly and the veterans exchanging glances that communicated much more than the ramblings of their counterparts. Sydney and Vaughn shared a few forced smiles accompanied by eye rolls that said, "I can't wait till the 'after' part of this date." Still even more of their looks said, "Remember when we used to get surprised by the simplest of touches?" But the majority of their glances communicated pure enjoyment and happiness. There was a contentment between them that was more comfortable than it had been in a long time. Several times she caught his gaze resting lower than her face. While she was far from offended, she was surprised. She knew he looked, but he was not in the habit of getting caught. She made a mental note to tease him about it later.

* * *

As Weiss pulled away from the driveway to keep his part of the bargain, Sydney entered her home with Vaughn following behind her with a hand at the small of her back. It was an infrequent gesture from him, but she still enjoyed it. She smiled and turned to watch him close and lock the door.

"So you're planning on spending the night then?" she teased.

"Mm-hmm. That's the rule."

"Good rule," she consented. She felt him pulling her into him, and readily gave into the embrace. "And a good plan."

"Thank you," he said with a beguiling kiss. "Want some wine?"

"I'd love some." Moving to the kitchen she smiled as she watched him pulling down glasses, and smiled at the fact that he knew where she kept the corkscrew without ever having opened a bottle of wine here before. "So, you were right."

"About what?" he asked vacantly.

"About you being distracted tonight."

"What are you talking about?"

"You didn't smudge the make-up, but you were definitely distracted," she finished somewhat cryptically. He raised an eyebrow at her, silently questioning. "Oh, I think you know what I'm talking about," she answered with a quick downward glance. He smiled broadly, apparently unashamed by the fact that she had caught him.

"So what's the problem?" he wanted to know.

"No problem. It's just not like you."

"Yes it is."

"To get caught, I mean."

"Well, tonight was special," he answered seriously.

"Yeah?"

"Yes." He took a step forward and traced her dress along the shoulder with his fingers.

"Why tonight?" she insisted. His fingers slipped under her strap and gently exposed the nearly non-existent red strap of her bra.

"Because it's twice as hard to wait when I can see what's underneath," he smirked.

"And you didn't think I'd want to know that I should take care of that?" she asked, a little embarrassed by her apparent but minor wardrobe malfunction.

"That's not the question I was concerned with at the time."

"No? What were you concerned with?"

"Well, the thing that was really troubling me," he explained in mock seriousness, "what I was really wondering at that point in time was whether or not this," he pulled the strap, nudging her closer to him, "matches the rest of what's underneath."

"I see. I can understand how that would be troubling."

"Extremely."

"You poor thing," she pitied him. With a classic come hither stare she added, "Allow me to apologize." He obeyed, and sank into a kiss that quickly deepened. Finally they had made it to the "after" part of the date, and both had determined to take advantage of it. Neither one of them had made an overt physical advance all night. Whether it was a matter of deference to Weiss and Nadia or simply an unwillingness to make a public display of affection seemed irrelevant at the moment. Both of them were making up for lost time. Breathlessly their lips separated, but their bodies and faces continued to share each other's space. She smiled an almost intoxicated smile and asked, "Am I forgiven?"

"Definitely," he answered hoarsely.

"Good. Now let's talk about you."

"About me?"

"Uh-huh. And that fact that I wasn't the only one you were staring at."

"What? What are you talking about?" he asked in utter astonishment.

"Nadia."

"Nadia?" Now he seemed almost offended.

"I saw you, Vaughn," she accused good-naturedly.

"Okay," he confessed. "It was like five seconds, and it was only because I couldn't believe it."

"Believe what?" she quizzed. He pulled away from her slightly and raised a hand to her chest. Lightly, he circled the tiny but noticeable freckle that peaked out above her neckline.

"She has the same one as you. Right there on the left."

"Are you kidding me right now?" she asked with a grin.

"No, I'm not. It's in the exact same spot."

"Okay, I know you notice everything about everything, but this is a little creepy."

"How do you think I felt?" he joked. "It's bad enough that Weiss is going to be dating your sister, but now he's got my favorite freckle too." She laughed aloud at his concern.

"You still have it. He's got an imitation."

"Thank God for that," he answered lustily. He leaned down into her again and was met with an overly cooperative kiss. He lost track of one hand in her hair, while the other occupied itself much, much lower. Just as he was allowing himself to be pulled entirely into the moment, he was jolted by a sharp pain on his lip. He jerked away from her, and smiled in realization before returning to the kiss with more fervency than before. She smiled into their kiss as well, happy that she knew how to make him happy. He felt her smile against his lips and chuckled slightly. She pulled away from his kiss and looked at him appraisingly.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asked.

"Absolutely not."

"Good," she replied as she moved to tuck her hair behind her ear. Noticing her missing ribbon, she looked down and found it in his hand. "You took my ribbon out."

"Mm-hmm. The first of many things to go tonight."

"That took a long time to get straight," she complained.

"And it was pretty. But it's done for the night," he smiled.

"Really? Are you done?"

"Not even close."

"Promise?"

"Guaranteed," he answered moving to kiss her again.

"So this wine thing?" she returned to their reason for being in the kitchen.

"Right."

* * *

**AN: **Abrupt ending, I know. More to come very soon.


	13. Birthday Wishes

"Birthday Wishes"

The silence of the night surrounded them like a friendly mist settling into the bedroom. Rather than keeping them in the dark, it only served to keep the rest of the world at bay. Sydney was lying on her back happily pinned down by the solid arm of Michael Vaughn whose face was buried in the crook of her neck. Lazy fingers traced up and down his arm and shoulder, finding each ridge and swell of muscle. They had lain like this for a while, both of them seeming to take a little longer to recover from their exertion than normal. One thing that Sydney seemed to be completely unable to recover from was the faint smile on her lips.

"So this was supposed to be _your_ birthday," she mused.

"And?" he mumbled into their shared pillow.

"I mean, I feel like I'm the one that got the present," she smiled at him as she turned her face to him. He smiled back at her, obviously pleased by her happiness.

"Haven't you heard, Bristow? ''Tis more blessed to give than to receive'." She laughed aloud.

"I think I've done some of both tonight."

"So we're even."

"Yeah, but it's your birthday. We're not supposed to be even."

"We're not, if you wanna know the truth."

"No?" she asked.

"No. I got to look at you all night during dinner. " He moved his hand behind him to find a discarded scrap of risque, red silk. Holding it up for her to see. "And this."

"It was especially for tonight," she allowed.

"It was clever too."

"How can lingerie be clever?"

"Please?" he teased. "That innocent little dress with _this_ underneath?" She flashed her dimples at being found out.

"You liked it?"

"I'm not even going to answer that."

"You liked it."

"Loved it."

"Ha. You answered."

"Yeah. Getting soft in my old age," he explained.

"Hardly."

"Syd," he commented with a laugh, "what has gotten into you tonight?"

"Oh, I'm not even going to answer that." She was barely able to finish the statement before she laughed at herself.

"Oh my god. This is one of those really horrible James Bond movies. Every line is an innuendo."

"You started it," she blamed.

"Well, you finished."

"Ok, just stop it right now," she giggled.

"That's not what you said earlier," he swaggered.

"Vaughn, I mean it."

"'kay."

"Aww, you stopped. I'm sad now. That was fun."

"You're such a woman," he responded winding the strap of her bra through his fingers.

"Thank you." She turned to her side to face him and smiled up at his satisfied smirk. "Happy birthday, Vaughn."

"Thanks. So, I'm a little curious about something."

"'bout what?"

"You said you bought me a birthday present last year. Did you buy this last year?" he asked referencing the undergarment. Her mind flashed back to the events of the previous year, and the thoughts that had occupied her mind at that time. She remembered being in the office that day and watching Lauren with Vaughn. Normally it hurt, but that day it had annoyed her. It annoyed her because she should have been the one with him making references to "later." Instead she watched as they walked out the door together hand in hand.

"No. It was something else."

"Oh? So when do I get it?"

"You don't."

"You said on my next birthday," he reminded.

"I know, but it's..." she faltered and looked down ashamedly. "It's kind of not new anymore."

"What do you mean? Did you give it to someone else?" he sounded a little hurt.

"No."

"Then what?"

"Well, I had a really difficult time trying to find something that wasn't too personal. And when I finally did, I got it home and I looked at it for a while, and I realized that no matter what it was, it didn't matter. Anything would be too much. So I kept it."

"So you used it, and now I can't have it?" he concluded. "I still need to know. What is it?" She smiled a little sadly. Rising from the bed and crossing the room she opened a drawer and pulled on a baggy shirt. Closing the drawer and returning to the bed she crawled in next to him.

"I know it's sort of unoriginal, but it kind of had to be if I was going to give it to you then."

"You got me a hockey jersey?" he smiled sincerely.

"Yeah, but then I figured you wouldn't be allowed to wear it anyway, so I just kept it for myself."

"Looks good on you."

"It's huge."

"Uh-huh. That's part of why it looks good."

"Do you want it?"

"Can we share?"

"Sure. Might be difficult to part with it anyway," she smiled.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. It was too big for anything else. I slept in it a lot. Until recently."

"You could have just returned it."

"No, I couldn't," she said growing serious as she looked away. "That would have meant giving up." Her eyes were drawn back to his now serious ones. She was quickly growing emotional and crept closer to him. His arms went around her instantly.

"I'm glad you kept it," he told her meaningfully.

"Me too." Her grip on his torso tightened as they shared an embrace of assurances. The thought of Sydney curled up in bed in a hockey jersey all those nights he had shared a bed with Lauren was enough to turn his stomach, and it nearly did. He had tried to convince himself over and over again that she really was as strong as she appeared to be. The idea that she had suffered as acutely as he had himself was an unsettling thought, and one that even holding her did not seem to vanquish entirely.

"You okay, Syd?" he asked as his thumb stroked her cheek.

"Yeah, I'm good. I like it here."

"It is pretty good, isn't it?"

"The best."

"So, if we're going to share this jersey, where is it going to stay?"

"I've been thinking about that," she began unsteadily, "And I think that maybe we should think about possibly you moving in. I mean, not right away, but I think it's something we should consider."

"I think you know that I've already thought about it."

"Okay, well I need to seriously think about it then, but you can definitely have your drawer back. It can stay in there."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's been empty since I moved in anyway," she explained thoughtfully. "I just never found anything that belonged in it." He smiled sweetly.

"I love your subconscious."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she denied.

"You do know. I'll fill it up tomorrow," he assured with a kiss. Lingering slightly on her lips he pulled her on top of him and kissed her again in the midst of her hair falling against his face. Her slight weight pressed into his body, and her fingertips sank pleasantly into his shoulders. Her kisses grew sporadic and lingered only for a moment. By her reasoning, he had placed her in control by positioning her above him, and she had every intention of taking advantage of that. Propping her elbows on his shoulders and settling her chin into her hands she opened her eyes, and carefully examined every feature of his face. Staring back at her, he reflected the smile in her eyes and toyed haphazardly with the hem of her shirt.

"You know, the last time I was in this position with someone in a hockey jersey, it wasn't nearly as much fun."

"I bet not. What'd you do to him to get into this position?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't play dirty," he answered in an intentionally transparent lie.

"Vaughn, please."

"Okay, so it was only one time, and people do it all the time," he quickly justified.

"Do what?"

"Just a little cross-checking that the ref didn't see."

"Cross-checking? Isn't that a major penalty?"

"Yep. Five minutes."

"Michael Vaughn! I'm appalled," she attempted disdain.

"No you're not."

"No, I'm not. Did he kick your ass for it?"

"Nah, cross-checking you can get away with. Lay a guy out on the ice, and you're pretty much guaranteed to get caught. He got the penalty instead." She laughed aloud at his recounting.

"Very smooth."

"Thank you."

"So only once, huh?" she doubted.

"Only once in that game," he clarified sounding a little guilty. "To that particular guy." She laughed again.

"God, you are so barbaric," she commented adding a slight ruffle to his hair. "I love it."

"The barbarism or the hair?"

"Definitely both." His smile grew when he made out the faintest traces of a blush on her cheeks.

"So, I've been thinking," he began more seriously, "that it is almost time for my birthday wish."

"Nuh-uh, you already got your birthday wish. The rule says you get one."

"That's true. But that was not my birthday wish. That was my Valentine's Day wish."

"Cheater," she accused with the eyes of a skeptic.

"It's not cheating. It's just the way it is. This is a very special day for me."

"Sometimes my birthday falls on Easter. What do the rules say that I get?"

"Should your birthday take place concurrently with Easter, you will be entitled to one birthday wish and ham."

"But you get a birthday wish and sex? I'm not happy with the division of gifts."

"I know it doesn't seem fair at first glance, but think about it. As long as you're with me, you can share all my birthdays with me, and you can take advantage of the situation too. You've really got it pretty easy. You'll never have to think about a birthday gift. Just make it something sex related and you're good."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"Mm-hmm. You know what else I'd like?"

"What?" she asked happily.

"I'd like to see this jersey over there in that far corner," he indicated with a nod.

"Oh this is not good."

"Yes, it is. It's very good," he coaxed as he slid his hands underneath the garment.

"No not that," she answered sitting up and removing the shirt. "Throwing stuff in the corner. It's not good," she explained with a toss.

"I'll pick it up in the morning."

"No you won't," she called his bluff with a smile.

"Okay, you'll pick it up in the morning," he teased.

"This is something I'm going to have to factor into that cohabitation thinking." He laughed quietly as she settled herself back down against him.

"Trust me, the benefits far outweigh the inconveniences," he argued with a promising kiss.

"What kind of benefits are we talking about?" she wanted to know as she repaid him with a kiss of her own.

"Given that we're in the middle of one of them right now, I think we should postpone the discussion in favor of a demonstration," he suggested as his lips moved from hers, across her jaw and down to her neck. Since she no longer cared what the discussion was about she opted to agree to his suggestion.

"Should I be taking notes? I wouldn't want to forget anything."

"I don't think that's necessary," he answered confidently. "You won't forget."

"I won't forget," she affirmed. "I think you're right."

"I am right."

With that they marked the end of both rational and irrational conversation for the night. The remainder of the early morning hours were spent exploring many of the reasons that living together could be an advantageous arrangement for everyone involved, and hoping that those reasons would seem just as important by the light of day. They hoped that whatever problems would arise from the possibility, the desire to be together would give both of them the drive to find the solutions.


	14. Chasing Echoes

"Chasing Echoes"

"So I talked to Weiss," Vaughn began looking up from his hamstring stretch against the park bench.

"Yeah?" Sydney asked. "How did that go?"

"It's pretty bad."

"Bad as in..." she wondered.

"Let's just say, if she's not serious about this, it's going to be really ugly and you may not see me for a few months."

"I think it'll be all right," she comforted. "She and I talked about it. She definitely likes him."

"Yeah, she likes him, but I don't think you understand Eric Weiss," Vaughn explained. "He sort of skips the 'liking' phase. Usually he just jumps straight to psychotic stalker." Sydney laughed slightly as she leaned into the nearby tree trunk. "I'm serious, Syd. He is not going to be okay if this ends badly."

"Unless _he_ ends it badly. Did you ever think about that?" she countered.

"Please. He would never dump her."

"How do you know?"

"It's genetic. All the women in your family are irresistible to the men who want them. Even Jack got owned." Laughing again at his preposterousness, she finished her stretching and seated herself on the bench next to his extended form. Joining her on the bench, he continued. "But the truth is, I seriously doubt either one of them will listen to us, so it's sort of irrelevant. How is she? Nadia."

"She's doing okay. She's really shaken up about the prophecy stuff. I can't really blame her there. It was nice to have a break from it, ya know?" she looked to him for understanding.

"I know what you mean. There is no one I'd rather forget than Milo Rambaldi."

"But physically she's fine. She has to have a skin graft to cover the burns. Still, the other stuff really scared her. How 'bout you? How was your visit with Sark?"

"As expected," he answered growing quiet. "Nothing really much to say about him. He's Sark. The same smug son of a bitch he always was. But we should be able to get some use out of him this time around. He's being transferred tonight and they're going to stage the extraction. We should have the location of CRF headquarters by tomorrow."

"I'm sorry you had to deal with him again. It can't be easy."

"No, it's not," he answered with a half smile in her direction. "But I don't think any of us signed up for easy, did we?" She smiled admiringly.

"You're..." she began, but could not finish.

"What?" He tried to help. "A glutton for punishment? Masochist?"

"Amazing. Even though that's not quite what I wanted to say. You have this insane ability to just not care about yourself." He gave a shallow laugh.

"No, I don't. Everybody's selfish. It's all about the spin," he explained. "All you have to do is talk yourself into believing that even though what you are doing is unpleasant, it will ultimately be for your own gain. For example, I hate talking to Sark. However, if I talk to Sark and find CRF headquarters, we can not only find and destroy Anna, we also make you safer and me happier. Therefore, talking to Sark makes me happy."

"See what I mean? Amazing. I'd just be thinking about how much I hate the bastard."

"You can't help it," he smiled. "You're a woman."

"I'm sorry, what?" she replied indignantly.

"It's not an insult. It's just that, as a female, logic isn't your strong point."

"I hate to disagree with you, but I happen to be very logical," she persisted.

"Yes. For a woman, you're very logical," he assented.

"I am so mad at you right now," she informed without ire.

"And why are you mad?"

"Because I cannot think of one way to prove to you that I am a logical person. And if I _were_ a logical person, I would be able to do that." He smiled fully, and rose to walk. She followed him, still pouting slightly.

"You will, I'm sure of it. And you'll call me in the middle of the night to tell me about it too," he predicted.

"You want me to believe you wouldn't enjoy that?"

"Probably depends on how much yelling is involved."

"I wouldn't yell at you. When have I ever yelled at you?"

"Are you kidding?" he asked with an amused smirk.

"Shut up, I'm gonna jog back," she informed. He smiled in reply, and she broke into a leisurely jog. Not to be left behind, he picked up his own pace and quickly closed the distance between them. The distance to the car was not far. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him quickly approaching and accelerated her pace. He followed suit and soon they were sprinting. In no time at all, they were leaning against the car catching their breath.

"I thought you were gonna jog. What was that?" he asked.

"I was, but then you started chasing me."

"I wasn't chasing you, I was just trying to catch up with you."

"Experience has taught me to ask questions later."

"For the record, you don't have to run from me."

"Is this a life lesson?" she asked smiling.

"Only if you need it," he answered returning her smile without reservation.

"I think, I'm good, thanks," she assured. "Are you staying tonight?"

"Staying? With you?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you want me to?" he asked.

"If you want to," she replied uncertainly with a tiny shrug.

"I'd love it," he affirmed.

* * *

Sydney sat in the passenger seat, waiting for Vaughn to return with some necessities from Weiss's apartment. The warm evening air was blowing through the open windows, and she toyed absently with a few strands of hair that had gone astray during their run. A faint smile tugged at her mouth. Picking up his abandoned sunglasses, she folded and unfolded them, even trying them on for size in the visor mirror. Definitely not her style.

The thought that she was serious about possibly having him move in was a little frightening given everything that they had been through so recently. Even with all the progress they had made, her logic told her it was too soon for this step. But holding his glasses in front of her, she thought about the possibility in a different light. Yes, things were difficult and complicated. No, there was no guarantee that things would work out. Yes, it would hurt if he betrayed her again. But in the face of these reasonings, she thought about everything else in her life. Nothing was simple or easy. She had no guarantees that anything would be all right ever. Not with her father, not with Nadia, not with Sloane, not with Rambaldi, and not with Vaughn. But even with these uncertainties, she knew that if he betrayed her, where he was living when he did it would be irrelevant. The pain would be the same. But it was not these rationalizations that helped her think of the possibility in a positive light.

She looked up from her thoughts to see him walking toward the car with gym bag in hand. The smile that had tempted her before, now won out against her resistance. She thought with pleasure of walking into her home and seeing his shoes next to hers by the door, his toothbrush next to hers in the bathroom, and his clothes mixed with hers in the laundry hamper. She thought of them mixing their lives so totally, being present for every mood, every emotion, every event. The thought made her happy. She wanted to share everything with him.

"You get everything?" she asked.

"For now," he answered returning her smile. He backed out and pulled onto the street. "Syd, can I have my glasses?" She looked up from where she still held his sunglasses in her hand, carefully stroking the rims.

"Sorry," she offered handing him the glasses.

"So, I've been thinking."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I've been thinking about me moving in," he began reluctantly. "I know that I was a little... I don't know, insistent about certain things." Her smile faded as she paid closer attention to his words and features. He looked uneasy. "I just, I wanted to say that, I understand your reasons for hesitating. And I'm sorry that I pressured you into doing something that you weren't ready for. In fact, I think you're right. I think we should wait."

"Wait? For what?"

"Before we move in together. I think we should wait," he explained. Her face fell as she folded her hands nervously in her lap. "Syd?" She looked up at him as he quickly tried to read her while driving. "What are you thinking?"

"So, this was the plan?" she began a little angrily. "To talk about how close you wanted us to be, and then just take it back when I started to really consider any permanence in our relationship? That's classy."

"What? Sydney, this was _your_ idea. You were the one that said things were going too fast. You said we should take things slow, remember?" he defended.

"I think it's too late for that," she commented drily. They were silent as he parked outside of her home.

"I'm not really sure what to say here, Syd," he said while removing his glasses and giving her his full attention. "I wish I knew why I should apologize."

"You shouldn't. You should never have to apologize for the way you feel," she said coldly.

"And that's it? We're not going to talk about this?" he said unbelievingly.

"What's there to talk about?" she asked detaching herself from the situation. "You don't want to move in with me. I get it."

"I didn't say that."

"That's what it sounded like to me," she replied too quickly with a touch of hostility.

"Well, that's not what I meant," he answered forcefully, demanding her attention.

"I think we've pretty much said what we need to say here."

"Sydney," he attempted.

"No, it's fine."

"So, you want me to leave?" he asked cautiously.

"Maybe it's best," she answered.

"Okay, well, will you call me?"

"Maybe. I just need some time."

"Fine, just... I'm not really sure what this is about, but whatever it is we should talk about it." She smiled a little at this.

"Not really your style, is it?"

"Maybe it should be," he answered seriously as he met her eyes again. "What we talked about the other night... It's still true. I love you, Sydney. I mean it." Her brow furrowed and she crossed her arms instinctively.

"I know. Me too."

"Call me. Please."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later," she said as she exited the car. One glance back was what she gave him but it was enough. It was enough for her to read the genuine concern on his features. She offered him a shadow of a smile, and walked away.

* * *

Showered and changed and feeling more removed from the recent argument, she distractedly straightened the bedroom. Things had been busy the last couple of days, and she had neglected housekeeping. She pulled together some clothes and moved to toss them into the laundry hamper. Noticing too late that some of the clothes were not hers, she turned and retrieved the foreign items. Slowly she sat at the edge of her bed, and vaguely examined the items. The jeans and hockey jersey that he had left on her floor and promised to pick up sat menacingly in her hands.

She was at a loss. Her mind was vainly trying to come up with some reasoning as to why he had had this change of heart. Why had he suddenly decided that they should slow down, that he needed space? It was only a few days ago that he had talked about how impatient he was to be with her all the time. It had been a hell of a day. Everything seemed to be in upheaval. First Anna had returned, Nadia had been kidnapped, Rambaldi was back, Sark was back, and now Vaughn was having second thoughts about living together. Setting the clothing aside, she looked the other way and recalled their conversation.

All she could remember was the intense disappointment she felt as a result of being denied the one thing she had decided she wanted—the one thing that would lend some normalcy to her life. She wanted to tell him that it was time, and now he wanted to wait. But his parting words came to her in time to calm her slightly. His assurance that he loved her was the comfort she needed to pick up the phone. Then in a moment of unexpected boldness, she tucked the phone into her pocket and grabbed a sweatshirt.

* * *

"Hi," she began lamely when Vaughn opened the door.

"Hello, did you wanna come in?"

"Are you alone?" she asked looking past him.

"No, Weiss is here."

"Could you..." she insinuated asking him to come outside. He complied and they seated themselves on the top step. Dusk was closing in on them as they began to delve into the reason she had come to him.

"I don't really know what to say," she began. "But I couldn't leave things the way they were. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, I just, I wish I knew what I said that was so wrong."

"You didn't. You didn't say anything wrong," she responded moving her feet up one step and pulling her knees closer.

"Okay, I wish I knew what I said that you didn't like," he broadened his statement, and she put on a sad smile as he looked on her.

"Have you ever wanted something for a really long time, and then the time comes for you to get it, and something happens that forces you to wait longer? I mean something really big. Something you've been looking forward to for years." He looked away and his stare grew vacant.

"Yeah. I have."

"I think maybe, that's what happened to me today. And I know it's a little immature to, I don't know, lose my temper about not getting my way, but I just wanted you to know that if you do change your mind about wanting to live together that I'll understand. I mean, I won't understand, but it's totally your call." He looked at her determined yet readable face. Her expression reminded her of the day she had come to his classroom and told him that if he wanted to come back to the CIA, she would be fine.

"I won't change my mind," he assured. "I just think you're right. We both have a past that will make this difficult, and..." he swallowed hard, "everything that happened today was a good reminder of that."

"Sark?"

"And Anna. Rambaldi. Sark was... It wasn't fun. Hearing him talk about Lauren. It's amazing how good it felt to hit him."

"You hit him?" she smiled. "Hard?"

"Yeah," he smiled too at her reaction.

"I get that maybe there are ugly things in our lives that will make things more difficult than they need to be. And I get that you want to keep those things from me. I just want you to know that you don't have to. I was there for most of those things anyway. I know what they are. But the one thing that makes it all worth it, is being with you."

"It's not just that," he began again, and looked down at the concrete between his feet. "I realized today that I may have been a little more... assertive than is appropriate."

"Appropriate?"

"Yes. That maybe I wasn't giving you the freedom to make your decisions," he looked to her again. "I don't want to push you, Sydney. It wouldn't be right that way, and it wouldn't work."

"I see," she answered with a growing smile. "So, you think I can't handle you? You think I just can't say 'no'?"

"No, that's not what I said," he answered.

"The point is, you didn't push me. So, whenever you decide you're ready, I'd be happy to help you pack. Until then, you know where to find me," she said holding out a key.

"What's this?" he smiled.

"Well, if you climb through the window, you might end up getting shot so I thought it was a good idea."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's pretty much guaranteed that you'll be moving in sometime, right? Don't answer that," she finished with a hand to her forehead.

"Yes," he answered taking the key and the hand that held it. He extracted the small metal token that she offered. "So we're okay?"

"Yeah, of course we are," she answered.

"Come here." She scooted closer and leaned into him. He still held the key in his free hand in front of him spinning it back and forth between his fingers.

"You like it?" she asked hopefully touching the key that had been hers moments ago.

"I love it," he answered. "So you're really sure about this?"

"I think so. But I am not picking up your clothes."

"We'll see," he challenged.

"Yeah, we will. We'll see that I'm not gonna do it."

"Okay. So, just curious," he baited, "Where are the jeans I left on the floor?"

"None of your business. You don't live there yet," she answered.

"That's what I thought. So, what if I said next week?"

"Yeah?" she smiled broadly.

"Yeah. Let's do it," he smiled back. She kissed him comfortably and sank into the security of knowing that they were of one mind about where things were going. His arm held her close, and she did not resist. She allowed her mind to rest in the fact that he wanted the same things for them that she did. And in a quiet, almost unnoticed moment, the world around them sank into darkness. Not a darkness characterized by fear and uncertainty, but a darkness that enveloped the city because it was time. It was a darkness that came naturally and gave much needed rest to many.

* * *

AN: This felt a little cheesy to me, but then maybe I just took too much time off over the holidays. I am curious about your thoughts.


	15. Finding Home

"Finding Home"

"No. Sark got away," Sydney confessed in annoyance

"Well, that just gives us something to look forward to, doesn't it?" Jack replied.

"Something like that. Dad, how's Nadia?"

"Better. She's awakened from the coma and the doctor says she'll be just fine. They're still holding her for a few days, obviously."

"Of course."

"I'll see you when you get back."

"Bye." Hanging up the phone, Sydney leaned back against the hard, uninviting walls of the small plane.

"Nadia?" Vaughn asked from beside her.

"She's good," Sydney smiled. "She's awake. No permanent damage."

"That's good news."

"I know. I can't believe Sark kept his promise."

"I wouldn't read into it. There's probably something in it for him."

"I'm sure of it. It's just... weird."

"You kissing him, that was weird," Vaughn teased with upraised brows.

"_Weird _is not the right word for that," she said with disgust.

"At least he didn't lick your face," he offered. "I remember how much you like that."

"And _that _is what I have to be grateful for. What does that say about my life?" she replied indignantly. Comfortable silence, such as it was on the small aircraft, overtook them for a few moments. "Vaughn?" she began again more seriously, "I know the last few days had to have been horrible for you. If you wanted to talk about it..."

"I'm okay," he answered sending her a sad smile. "Just stop making out with sociopathic mercenaries, and I'm okay."

"I'm serious."

"Thank you," he answered sincerely. "So am I, by the way," he teased.

"Did you feel threatened?" she laughed.

"Of course not. But that doesn't make it an enjoyable experience."

"I think I got the worst part of the deal."

"Regardless of the worst, Sark definitely got the best."

"No. I saved the best for you."

"Yeah?" he smiled. She found it easy to return his smile and welcomed the familiarity of his kiss. There were times when his kiss caused excitement, passion and hunger; but the kisses she treasured were the ones that made her feel valued and safe. Feeling close to Vaughn was a welcome relief after a year of estrangement from everything she knew to be true. There were times that she could almost believe that every nightmarish turn of events over the past three years was nothing more than that. It was just a dream that haunted her from time to time. Nothing about it was real. Vaughn was real. The way she felt for him and the way she felt with him—that was real. However, the unfortunate truth was never far behind these musings. But this time, the unfortunate truth only served as a proof that comfort she was now feeling was also real. She now knew the truth that pleasure could only be truly appreciated in the wake of pain.

Her smile continued as she parted from him, yet stayed close. They remained nearby even as they settled into makeshift beds leaning against duffel bags and cargo nets and whatever else they could find to make the tiny, uninviting plane more comfortable. Sleeping fitfully, both of them were roused by a phone not even an hour later. It was Vaughn's. Sydney tried to let go of the conversation, but her mind had already become active. She lay silently, with her eyes closed listening half-heartedly, but there was not much to listen to.

"Hello?" he answered tiredly. "Mom?" The silence pervaded and drowsiness overtook her as she fell into a half dream state. And regardless of her rational objections that told her it was an unproductive line of thinking, she wondered if Vaughn's mother had liked Lauren and what she thought of her. She wondered when she would finally get to meet her, and why she had not met her before. How would he interact with her? Was he like her in any way? Was he avoiding introducing them, or was it just a matter of circumstance?

"I'll have to see if I can get away," she heard him say. She stirred and turned to her side placing an unassuming hand on his shoulder. "Okay. You too." He heaved a weary sigh as he resettled his body. Turbulence racked the small aircraft making relaxation even more difficult, but it eventually died down and she heard him starting to breathe easier.

"What's going on?" she asked, finally concluding that he was not going to offer any information.

"It's nothing. My mom wants me to visit this weekend," he answered without opening his eyes.

"I see. Are you going?"

"I should. I haven't been there in months." he answered sleepily, and turned his head to look at her. She seemed mildly troubled. "Unless you don't want me to go. Did you make plans for me?"

"No," she answered, diverting her gaze. "You should go." With this they both turned their attention toward sleep once again where they gained a modicum of uneasy rest.

The next morning, Sydney queried doubtingly from her seat at the head of her bed, "So, you really think Sloane is going to just give you the weekend off?"

"I don't know, but it doesn't hurt to ask, right?" Vaughn asked kneeling down to look under her perch.

"I guess not. How _is_ your mom?" she asked trying to draw him out.

"She's fine. Do you know if I left my blue and brown shirt here? With the stripes?"

"She must really miss you. Living there by herself." He chuckled slightly at this suggestion.

"Not quite. She's relatively active. She was just getting home from her bridge club when she called last night." He disappeared into the bathroom and peaked behind the door and in the shower.

"But, I mean, you two are close, right?"

"I guess. As close as a woman and her grown son can be when he is forbidden from talking to her about 70% of the things in his life. Okay, I know I left my running shoes here. What the hell did you do with them?" he asked opening the closet doors.

"Forbidden wouldn't be so bad. At least you know she's safe."

"Yeah. She's safe, but she's also oblivious. The red toothbrush is mine, right?"

"About what?"

"Everything. What I do, my father, everything that's happened in the past three years."

"Three years?"

"For obvious reasons," he said with a sigh as he gave her more attention, "she thinks Lauren left me."

"Because no one is supposed to know she's dead. I'm sorry. That must be difficult to deal with," Sydney offered as she concluded that he probably had not told his mother that they were seeing each other again.

"Doesn't matter," he allowed, and he gave up his search to sit down beside her. "Anyway, I'm sure now that Sark is free the entire criminal community will know within a week."

"What did she say when you burned down your house?" he smiled weakly.

"She doesn't know. She thinks it was an accident. Kitchen fire."

"And she believed that? Because you cook a lot?" she asked sarcastically.

"No. That's _why _she believed the fire." She smiled a little and absently brushed her hair back behind her ear.

"Vaughn, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course." She looked up cautiously.

"Do you think it's a bad idea for me to meet your mother?"

"What?"

"I mean, it seems that you are a little hesitant or guarded or something."

"It's a little complicated is all," he answered.

"It is way more than a _little _complicated, but if this is going to work, I am going to meet her eventually. So, why the wait?"

"Syd, now is not the right time."

"Why not? Does she think you're still getting over Lauren?"

"No. It's just a bad time."

"Is there ever a good time? I mean, really, our life is chaos. There is never a perfect day for a barbecue or block party or anything remotely resembling normalcy. But if we don't do it we'll go insane. So why is this different?"

"It's my Uncle, Syd."

"Your Uncle?"

"He's not doing well. She didn't give me the specifics, but I know he's in the hospital."

"Vaughn, I... I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"How could you know? I'm going to see him. It's fine, I just, I'd rather not talk about it," he finished and looked away.

"Are you sure you don't want some company? I promise I'll make sure your mom doesn't know I'm there."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine. We weren't all that close anyway. Besides, there's no way Sloane's going to let both of us out of work."

"Probably true," she consented resignedly.

"Next time though, you're coming with me," he insisted.

"Yeah?" she smiled.

"Mm-hmm. No negotiations. You're not getting out of it." Satisfied with the conversation, she kissed him and bounced up from her station. Stopping to pull back the drapes behind the desk and swinging by the bathroom she returned.

"The green one is yours," she offered his toothbrush, "you kicked your shoes out of the way under the desk, and your shirt is dirty. Sorry." Accepting the proffered toothbrush, he caught her eyes meaningfully with his own.

"Thank you," he said. "I was supposed to move this weekend."

"I know," she smiled. "When you get back."

"I can't wait."

"Me either. We should do something to celebrate. We should buy a closet organizer." she said excitedly.

"Wow. Sometimes I forget."

"What?"

"How much you enjoy domesticity. I mean, you are actually giddy right now," he observed in amusement.

"I can't help it," she giggled sitting back down and leaning into his welcoming arm. "It's not really about the closet organizer anyway. It's about sharing it."

"You know what else we could share?"

"Apparently a toothbrush. Gross."

"Or?"

"A bed?"

"Well, that's a given, but I was thinking of a bigger TV."

"Or a bigger bed."

"Why? You sleep on top of me half the time anyway."

"I know, but there are other times that I feel my creativity is a little... stilted."

"I've never noticed a deficiency."

"Maybe not a deficiency, just constrained by the environment." He laughed against her hair.

"Well, we can't have that. We will have to make sure your 'creativity' has free reign."

"Don't misunderstand; I always have fun. But sometimes I just think of all the things I would do if I wouldn't fall off the bed."

"What would you do?"

"I can't just tell you," she blushed.

"Why not?"

"It's not the same. I'll show you sometime."

"Now I really can't wait."

"Well, you have to, 'cause you're leaving me. I'll have to lie here and think about it all by myself."

"You should call me if you get lonely," he suggested slipping slow fingers beneath the hem of her shirt.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you."

"I would. I'd love it." She smiled and tilted her head accommodatingly as he nuzzled under her ear.

"I'll think about it."

"You should think about it. Think about it a lot." She giggled lovingly.

"Kind of already do."

"Not as much as I do," he assured.

"How do you know?"

"I can read you. I know when you're thinking about it."

"You're not _that _good," she argued.

"I am."

"At least I'm not as obvious as you."

"Can't help it. You're too beautiful," he justified as his hand ventured across her bare stomach.

"Vaughn, seriously, we can't do this now." She caught his eye with a skeptical but indulgent stare.

"Why not? Don't you want to?" he asked. His smile was a dare, and the sparkle in his eye said, "you know you want to."

"Vaughn, we'll be late."

"Syd. Don't you want to?" he repeated his question. Challenging his gaze for a moment, she narrowed her eyes.

"All right, but you're explaining to my father."

"Deal."

* * *

AN: I don't like my title on this one! Couldn't quite make it to the thought I wanted, but I am open to suggestions for changing it.


	16. Lingering Shadows

"Lingering Shadows"

"Eric, you don't understand. I can't talk to Sydney about this," Vaughn explained.

"And why not?" Weiss countered.

"Because, she's not really in a position right now to be objective about anything having to do with her mother, and if my father is alive that's going to affect her too."

"What is that supposed to mean? You know only women think 'cryptic' is sexy, right?"

"It's classified. I'm not even supposed to know," he apologized as he considered Irina's assassination.

"I see," he consented. "What can I do?"

"There's a word mentioned in his diary," Vaughn explained becoming slightly exasperated, "I think it might be a code name or something. But since I have no idea what this is about, I thought it might be a bad idea to do anything that could be traced back to me."

"I'll see what I can find."

"Thank you. I owe you one."

"Since when did you and I start keeping score?"

* * *

Sydney's arms were loaded, as she stumbled in the door with the plunder from her most recent tour of the supermarket. Nadia was propped up in the corner of the sofa reading a magazine as she watched Sydney from the corner of her eye. It occurred to her once that she might like some help, but she just wasn't feeling very generous. Sydney, however, did not seem to notice anything unusual as she stacked her bags onto the kitchen counter and began unloading.

"Hey," Sydney began to her sister cheerfully, "How does Chinese sound tonight? I was thinking of a stir fry with some tofu."

"That sounds fine," Nadia answered not looking up from her gossip rag.

"Or I could really embarrass myself and try Argentinian."

"Chinese is fine."

"Hey, did Vaughn call while I was out? He should be back, but I haven't heard anything yet."

"No, he didn't."

"That's strange."

"It is strange. Maybe he's betraying his country, and not calling you is all part of some greater conspiracy," Nadia offered bitterly. Sydney was stunned. She knew that Nadia had disagreed with the way she and Dixon had pursued Sloane. Nadia was resentful that she had not been brought into the loop from the beginning, but what she did not know was that Nadia disapproved of the suspicion altogether.

"Vaughn has no history of treason," Sydney offered without trying to make the conversation more painful for Nadia.

"I know what my father has done, Sydney," Nadia defended heroically, looking up as Sydney approached and sat across from her sister. "And I know that he's not proud of it. I'm not proud of it either, but I can accept the fact that people can change. And it may not change what he's done, but it does change what he's capable of doing."

"You may know, in theory, what that man has done. But reading it in a file, and delivering the eulogies are two very different experiences," Sydney continued, her words flowing calmly and deliberately, "That man is capable of anything. And while it seems that he has been walking the straight and narrow, in my opinion, it is only a matter of time before his true nature consumes him, and calls him back to what he used to be. Because the truth is, he hasn't really changed who he is. He's just adjusted his angle. And when the time comes that we see what he has really been about for the last three and a half years, I'm going to be there to make sure that he doesn't hurt anymore of the people I care about—including you. And if that makes you hate or resent me, then so be it. And if I'm wrong, I hope that you can understand that my wariness of Arvin Sloane was not in the interest of keeping you from him, but in keeping you from the path of destruction that he leaves behind him wherever he goes." Nadia was uncomfortable as Sydney looked on her protectively. While she wanted to defend her father, she knew that most of what Sydney said was true. But people could change, and she wanted to believe that her father had changed. She needed to believe it. "I'm going to make dinner now," Sydney declared as if she had just given her opinion of the starlet's dress on the magazine cover. Nadia stared after her as she walked away, and wondered if they would find some middle ground.

* * *

Sydney was worried about Vaughn to say the least. Family was a delicate topic for both of them, and one they hesitated to share with each other for obvious reasons. Regardless of the delicacies, she longed to be a included in normal discussions about embarrassing uncles and awkward Christmases. He had been back from Tucson for almost 24 hours and had yet to call her. And while it was not a reason for suspicion, it was unusual. Deciding that sitting around and waiting for a call was a bit of an antiquated idea she pulled out her cell.

"Hey Syd," he answered.

"Hey," she smiled sweetly as she curled up inside her cardigan.

"I heard about Sloane," he began, "Are you all right?" She shook her head in unbelief and smoothed her hair behind her ear.

"I'm fine, Vaughn," she answered in amusement. "I called to see how you are." She had never been able to understand how he could do this. She remembered a few months ago when Nadia had been taken from the mental hospital and then captured by Sloane. She remembered walking into his hospital room, when he had been tortured and nearly killed. He could barely move to take her hand, but the first words out of his mouth were, "Are you all right?" She had almost laughed then, and it was her usual reaction still. He seemed never to have any concern for his own problems. It was one of the most endearing things about him to her.

"I'm good. It was..." he paused searching for the right words to describe his current feelings about his Uncle, "strange. He's not expected to come out of the coma so it's really just a matter of time now."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could have gone with you."

"Me too. Next time."

"Okay, I'm going to ask you something, and I really need you to be honest with me."

"Of course," he replied, his concern growing.

"Do you think I'm too hard on Sloane? I mean, do you think he's really reformed? I know what I think, and I know Dixon agrees with me, but sometimes I think that maybe he and I with the history we have aren't exactly the best judge of Sloane's ability to do anything good. I mean, we were wrong about him. So wrong, and Nadia found out. I don't think she's going to trust me again," she finished regretfully.

"Well, you know I'm not exactly his biggest fan either, so I don't really know what you want me to say," Vaughn replied quietly.

"But if anyone can do it, it's you. You know, see it from the outside looking in. You've always been good at that." He lay smiling at her compliment, noting that she was improving. Then he considered the question before him.

"I don't think anyone can deny the good that he's done the past few years with Omnifam, and quite frankly, I don't see the point in denying it. People do good things all the time for their own selfish reasons. I don't see why Sloane should be any different. Unfortunately, his reasons usually go a little beyond selfish and into the arena of psychotic, but that doesn't mean he's in the middle of something now. That being said, as much as he apparently cares for Nadia, I think there is more to it than anyone knows. A man like him, a man that claims over and over again that he thinks of you as a daughter and doesn't hesitate to kill your fiancee´ and your best friend—I don't think that knowing he has a biological daughter will miraculously change his character."

"So far, you raise some interesting points, but I'm not seeing a definite answer."

"People don't change, Sydney. Not really. They just change the methods they use to get what they want," he stated definitively.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I still hate myself for what I did to Lauren."

"Vaughn, I didn't mean—"

"I know. It's okay." They were both silent as he collected his thoughts. "Even though I know she deserved every bullet she got for what she did to our country, I also know myself. And even though I can believe that no one blames me for what I did, I still blame myself. Because I know I didn't do it for patriotism. I did it because I hate her. Because she used me, and she used you. I know what my motive was in that moment, and it had nothing to do with national security. I don't think I can ever be okay with that."

"Vaughn, she was going to kill us both," she justified for him.

"I know. I know it was technically self-defense. But in that moment, I didn't feel threatened. I guess I'm taking a long time to say something pretty simple. It doesn't matter what a person does; what matters is why he does it. I don't trust Sloane, and not just because of everything he's done to you. I don't trust him because he doesn't deserve it. No matter what happens, he will always be the man who was willing to destroy the life of someone he supposedly cared about for the sake of his own endgame—whatever that might be."

"What do you think I should do about Nadia? She is really not happy with me right now."

"Give her time. She's smart and she knows what he's done. Even if she can't share the suspicious attitude the rest of us have, she will be able to understand our reasons for having it."

"Vaughn," she grew quieter, "About Lauren—"

"You don't have to say anything."

"If it had been me with the gun, I would have done it too. And for exactly the same reasons."

"But you didn't."

"But I'm glad she's gone," she admitted.

"Yeah. Me too."


	17. Better Late Than Never

"Better Late Than Never"

"I know we're both busy, but if you don't get your ass moved in here soon, I am going to be seriously pissed off," Sydney finished with a smile as she approached the front door.

"Soon, I promise. I've just been a little busy with things with my Uncle," Vaughn explained.

"Which is why _we _haven't been all that busy, if you know what I mean," she joked as she fished for her keys, and inserted it into the lock.

"How about I come over tonight and make you dinner?"

"You're going to cook?" she asked in amusement.

"Yeah, why not? You can rescue me if I do anything too catastrophic," he laughed as she opened the door. Suddenly her face went ashen, and her smile fell.

"I'm gonna have to call you back," she ended the conversation in trembling.

"Syd? Syd, are you all right?" he called out.

* * *

"Who are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Surely, you know who I am. It hasn't been that long," the man replied from inside her apartment.

"But you can't be. Because you're dead." Tears were threatening her, and she made no effort to stop them as she entered and closed the door. She moved slowly to the kitchen and picked up a knife, but he made no move to defend himself.

"Apparently not."

"Are you a double? What do you want?"

"Sydney, I'm not a double. The man you saw killed. The man in my apartment that night, he was the double."

"No, it can't be. The technology wasn't developed until two years later."

"It was in testing. He was the first, but he died as a result of the procedure. They planted him as me. He was supposed to get to you, to use you, but he died too soon. The FBI found out and took me away."

"Where did you propose to me?" she asked, testing him.

"In the courtyard on campus. It was 3 o'clock."

"And where were we when I told you the truth about me?"

"In the shower at my apartment."

"Oh my god... Danny?"

"It's me, Sydney," he answered holding his arm out to call her. Her hand dropped to the counter and she released the knife. Step by step, she made her way to him. Reaching out, she touched his face, his arm, his chest.

"Danny!" she sobbed as she threw herself into an embrace which he firmly returned.

"I've missed you so much, Sydney. Everyday I wanted to call you, tell you that I was all right, tell you how much I missed you, how much I wanted to hold you, how much I couldn't wait to marry you." Sydney stiffened in his arms, and pulled herself loose. She stepped back a few feet and he looked on with a smile. "I could never forget how beautiful you are though. Your hair's gotten so long."

"Yeah. Could you excuse me for a second?" she said as she moved to the bedroom and shut the door. Sitting down at the edge of the bed she bent over and hugged her knees. She still held her phone in her hand, and it was only moments ago that she was talking to Vaughn and making dinner plans. Now dinner seemed a bit trivial. She knew one thing for sure. She needed him. Pressing redial, she waited. "Vaughn?" she asked in tears. "Could you come over? Right now, please. I need you."

"On my way. Are you all right?"

"I'm okay. I just need you, and Vaughn? Knock this time," with that she hung up and tremulously made her way to the door. Danny was leaning on the arm of the chair waiting for her to reappear. Seeing her again he stood and approached her. He took one hand in his and cradled her face with the other.

"Are you all right, darling? You feel cold. Are you light headed? I know this must be quite a surprise to you, and you may be going into shock."

"I'm fine," she said as she extricated herself from him. "Can we just sit down for a minute?"

"Of course, I know you must have a million questions."

"I do. Where were you?"

"West Virginia. In protective custody."

"Doing what?"

"I've got a private practice there. Under another name of course, but it doesn't matter. I've been able to help a lot of people. It's not my specialty, but it's fulfilling."

"And your family?"

"My family thinks I'm dead, just like you did."

"I mean, do you have any, are you married or..."

"No. I couldn't want anyone else. Not after knowing you."

"Oh God."

"Syd, what's wrong?" he asked coming toward her, but she was saved by a knock on the door.

"Would you excuse me?" She moved to the door and opened it to an extremely concerned Vaughn. Stepping outside, she closed the door behind her and lost herself in his arms.

"Sydney, what on earth is going on?" he asked as he held her close. She was sobbing against his shoulder and grasping fistfuls of his shirt. She felt his soothing hand on her hair, willing her to calm down. She felt his breath on her neck, slow and even with only a slight variation from time to time. After a few moments, she stilled herself and let go of his shoulders. "Sydney, what is it?"

"I used to think the worst thing that ever happened to me was what Sloane did to me. But now I don't know."

"What did he do?"

"Come with me," she answered unable to tell him. She opened the door, and Danny looked up at both of them. "Vaughn, I'd like you to meet Danny Hecht." Vaughn was dumbstruck for a long while until Danny approached him to shake his hand. "Danny, this is Michael Vaughn."

"Yeah, I saw him hanging around in some picture frames. Nice to know the name that goes with the face."

"Yeah, you too. A, uh, face to go with the name, that is. Syd, would you excuse me for a moment?" Vaughn exited into Sydney's bedroom, a fact that was not lost on Danny.

"So, Michael is your...?" Danny began.

"We're seeing each other," she explained quickly and to the point. And when it escaped her lips she was surprised by the coldness she heard.

"And you called him over here now because you thought I'd be excited to meet the man who's stolen my fiancee?" Danny answered in a voice laden with sarcasm.

"He didn't steal me. I thought you were dead."

"Yeah well, I'm not, so how am I supposed to feel about this?"

"You can feel however you want to feel. I just thought it would be better if you knew the truth from the start."

"And you won't even consider being with me? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Danny, I don't know what to do or say. You have to understand that I was really not expecting today to go like this?"

"No? How was it supposed to go? Did you and Michael have a date planned for this evening to be followed by a nice romantic bottle of wine and God only knows what else?" Danny raised his voice.

"That's not fair. You knew!" She rebutted.

"You're right. I knew. I knew how much I love you, and that I would never do anything to betray you. I knew that as soon as I got the chance I had to come and see you. I knew that as soon as I could leave that prison of enforced safety that you would be the first person I had to see. I can see now what a fool I've been. How idiotic I must look to you to be waiting for you all these years, when you couldn't have cared less where I was or what I was doing." He took several deep breaths and then walked quickly to the door. She was crying openly as she watched him in a rage. "Goodbye Syd. I hope you and Michael have a nice life."

The door slammed, and just as quickly as he came, he had gone. But she could not erase the memory of the hurt in his eyes as he spoke. She couldn't forget the turmoil that had consumed her as she realized that she had to break his heart. This man that she had loved so dearly, this man that had given her life purpose for so many years, this man who had been willing to keep her secrets and accept her life with the CIA, this man who couldn't wait to have children with her was the man whose world she had to crush. There was no way to escape the pain. There was no way to make him understand. There was no hope of a happy ending. Not anymore. Not for Danny. And now even with Vaughn, she would have the knowledge that they were only together because someone else was miserable. Could they live with that?

* * *

"Sydney?" She felt a gentle finger along her jaw. "Syd, wake up. We're going to be late." She woke to Vaughn's smile. "And you know what everyone's going to think if we're late again."

"Vaughn." She had to say his name to know that he was real.

"Brought your coffee. You should get ready." He said as he set the paper cup on the nightstand and calmly left the room.

"Vaughn." She felt a little ill and pulled the blanket under her chin as she curled up tightly on her side. She didn't remember him staying here last night. The last thing she remembered was their conversation about Sloane and Lauren. She had gone to bed after they had hung up. The dream would not leave her. It felt real. It felt like her life. Vaughn had been there holding her. His arms felt real. Danny had held her just like he used to. He felt real too. Moving from her bed and into the bathroom, she tried to shake off the strangeness of it all. Teeth brushed and face washed, she left the bathroom to find Vaughn sitting at the kitchen counter with the newspaper.

"Good morning," he said with a smile as she cautiously approached him.

"Vaughn, hug me."

"What?" he asked laughingly.

"Just do it." He obeyed with a smile, wondering what was wrong with her. Sydney Bristow never verbally asked for a hug unless she was up to something.

His arms felt the same as they had in her dream, and she held him just as tightly as she had then. His familiar scent soothed her mildly, and she kissed his neck softly.

"Thank you," she said without a smile as she walked back to the bedroom and into the shower. He was more than a little perplexed as he returned to the newspaper with a few glances in her direction.

* * *

The first half of their commute was unusually silent, and when they switched trains and found a seat he had to know what was affecting her mood.

"Are we going to talk about this or pretend that there's not something going on?" he asked plainly.

"It's nothing, I just, it was weird," she replied dismissively.

"What was weird?"

"Dream."

"Oh," he answered, suddenly relieved. "And what happened in this dream?"

"I don't really think I should say."

"Of course you should. It was a dream. Just a dream."

"It didn't feel like 'just a dream.' It felt real. _You_ felt real."

"_I_ felt real?" he answered with a gleam growing in his eye. "What kind of dream was this?"

"Not a good one. I don't think. God, it's so horrible that I just said that."

"Sydney?"

"Vaughn, I am so sorry."

"What on earth for?"

"For the way I acted last year. When you came and got me, and then when you came back to the Agency. I am so sorry. I didn't stop to think about what it must have been like for you to have to choose between me and your wife. What it's like to lose someone. I guess I'd forgotten. I forgot what it does to a person when someone they care about dies, and I said some really, really awful things to you."

"Sydney, where is this coming from?"

"It doesn't matter. I wanted to hurt you so much that I couldn't see straight because you had hurt me by marrying her. Now I see that hurting you only made it harder for you, and probably pushed you even further away from me and toward her."

"Sydney, you had every right to say the things that you said. I know that I hurt you, and I am doing the best that I can to make damned sure I don't do it again. But I can accept the fact that you have every right to hold some things against me."

"No I don't," she answered factually. "I was dead. It wasn't a crime for you to move on. And I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for how I treated you. Yes, I was hurt, but I was also unfair to you."

"Sydney, you know me. So, you have to know that nothing you could say to me would possibly be worse than what I was telling myself."

"What did you tell yourself?" she asked suddenly very interested.

"Not today, Syd. I think we've said enough for today," he excused as he took her hand.

"Danny was alive," she explained softly.

"What?"

"In my dream, he came back. And I had to tell him that I couldn't be with him anymore because I was with you. The things he said to me, Vaughn. They were so much nicer than the things I said to you, but it still killed me. I don't know how you put up with me then."

"I didn't have a choice. You blamed me for what was happening, but the truth is, so did I. Working with you every day, seeing how much you hated me, it was my penance."

"I never hated you. I tried, but I couldn't. Even Eric tried to make me, but it didn't work."

"I always knew he was a good friend."

"Well, he was a great friend to me," she smiled.

"I know."

"Well, you don't know about all those long nights we spent together while you were, otherwise occupied," she insinuated.

"Yes I do."

"He told you? And you didn't mind?"

"No, I didn't. You needed someone, and I knew it couldn't be me. I'm glad he was there for you. Although, you deserved better." She laughed at this, and brushed away the last of the insistent tears from her cheek.

"Did we? Oh my god, Vaughn. We missed our stop."

"Yeah, I think we're going to be late," he answered smiling calmly.

"And not even for something good. Totally lame."

* * *

A/N: I have been wanting to write this chapter for quite a while. As much as I like Sydney, I think she was very unfair at the beginning of Season 3, and the issue had to be dealt with eventually. Hope it wasn't too weird for you.

Thanks for reading!

Brigit


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